L  I  E)  R.AFLY 

OF   THL 

U  N  I  VERSITY 

or    ILLINOIS 

823 
C  892.3- 

V.    I 


ALLERTON    TOWERS. 


By     ANNIE     THOMAS 

(Mrs.  Pender  Cudlip), 
author  of  "  denis  donne,"  "  played  out,"  "  eyre  of  blendon,"  etc. 


I A      THREE     VOLUMES. 
VOL.   I. 


LONDON : 

TINSLEY  BROTHERS,   8,   CATHERINE  STREET,  STRAND. 

1882. 

\^AU  Rights  Reserved.'] 


Prinfed  hi/  Kellv  &  Co.,  IjOiidon  &  Kinp:ston. 


7 


^A3 


CONTENTS 


rilAP.  PAGE 

I. — Mrs.  IIeatiierley's  Garden  Party     .         .        ,        .  i 

II. — The  Bishop's  Daughter  ......  19 

III. — "  I  Shall  Never  Forget  You  ;  Never  !  "  .         -39 

IV. — Is  She  Jealous  ? 57 

V. — Enter  Lily.     Exit  Ethel 78 

VI. — A  Father's  Prayer  and  Plan         .                 .        .  97 

VII. — Fanny  Yearns  for  ? 114 

VIII. — Mother  and  Daughter  ......  131 

IX.-   Sisterly  Zeal     ........  149 


ji  X. — Bale  Coppice 172 

C         XL— A  Plot 197 

^  XII. — And  its  Consequenx'es    ......  215 

'P  XIII. — At  Lamington  Hall  ......  224. 


ALLERTON    TOWERS. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

MRS.    HEATHERLEY'S    GARDEN    PARTY. 

II^ALTEE,  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
^/H^  that  mother  thinks  we  have  been 
very  premature  and  foolish." 

"And  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Ethel,  that 
your  mother  shows  great  want  of  consistency 
in  saying  so.*' 

"  Mother  doesn't  go  in  for  being  consistent," 
the  girl  laughs,  joyously  ;  "  she  speaks  and 
acts  on  impulse  as  a  rule,  and  this  morning 
she  told  me  she  had  one  of  her  strong 
intuitions  against  our  being  engaged ;  you 
see  your  practice  isn't  much  yet,  Walter ; 
mother's  only  prudent  after  all." 

"And  do  you  want  to  be  prudent  too, 
Ethel  ? "  he  asks,  and  his  voice  trembles 
a  little  as  he  manfully  strives  to  steady  it. 

VOL.  I.  B 


Allerton  Towers. 


His  feelings  are  being  cruelly  assailed  by  the 
remarks  which  the  girl  to  whom  he  has  been 
engaged  a  week  is  repeating  so  carelessly. 

She  laughs  again,  but  her  mirth  is  not 
quite  spontaneous. 

"  I  don't  want  to  plunge  into  poverty,  I 
must  admit." 

"  Poverty !  a  day  or  two  ago  you  were 
willing  enough  to  face  the  future  with  me, 
darling ;  what  has  changed  you  ?  Your 
mother  was  satisfied  with  the  prospect  I 
offered  then ;  what  has  made  her  dissatisfied 
with  it  now  ?  I  can  give  you  a  good  home, 
surround  you  with  every  comfort."  He 
pauses  abruptly,  for  Ethel's  eyes  and  atten- 
tion are  evidently  wandering  back  to  a 
group  on  the  lawn,  the  centre  of  Avhich  is 
a  young,  handsome  man  of  unmistakably 
"  good  form,"  to  whose  utterances  all  the 
girls  who  grace  Mrs.  Heath erley's  garden 
party  are  listening  with  almost  too  flatter- 
ing   attention. 

"Who's  that  fellow?"  Walter  GifTord— 
the  young  surgeon,  who  has  within  the  last 
six  months  made  himself  a  medical  power  in 


Mrs.  Heatherlei/s  Garden  Party.  3 

this  district — asks  pugnaciously,  and  Ethel 
Heatherley  answers,  in  a  state  of  tremulous 
excitement, 

"Don't  you  know?  that  is  Lord  Manrus 
Boyne — the  Marquis  of  Monks  town's  second 
■son. 

"  Now  I  know  why  your  mother  has  grown 
prudent  so  suddenly,"  Mr.  Gilford  says,  quietly. 
Then  he  takes  Ethel's  small  hands  in  his,  and 
holds  her  fast  while  he  says,  "  Why  has  Mrs. 
Heatherley  got  that  good-looking  boy  here  to 
■dazzle  all  you  girls  ?  he's  a  young  scamp, 
Ethel,  sent  here  to  do  penance  at  poor  old 
Townley's,  for  having  been  a  naughty  boy 
at  Oxford  ;  he  has  a  courtesy  title  and  eighty 
pounds  a-year,  and  your  mother  wants  you  to 
throw  me  over  for  him!" 

"  You're  very  rude,  Walter,"  Ethel  says, 
her  cheeks  growing  crimson  in  a  condemna- 
tory way  at  once ;  "  mother  has  asked  him 
here  as  she  always  asks  Mr.  Townley's  pupils ; 
«he  can't  help  his  being  attentive  and  hand- 
some and  having  a  title,  and — and  how  do 
you  dare  to  imply  that  dear  mother  is  a 
match-maker  ?  " 

B  2 


Allerton  Towers. 


"  Don't  get  savage,  Ethel " 

"  Then  don't  you  be  jealous !  " 

As  the  girl  says  this,  there  flutters  towards 
them  one  of  the  prettiest  and  youngest-look- 
ing of  matrons.  Mrs.  Heatherley,  who  has  a 
well-grown  daughter  of  twenty,  looks  at  the 
first  glance  little  more  than  thirty  herself, 
for  she  has  the  fair  beauty  and  the  slender- 
ness  of  limb  which  makes  middle-age  pass 
for  youth. 

Dressed  to  perfection  to-day  in  pink  sateen 
with  pockets  and  cuffs  and  piping  of  ruby 
velvet,  the  pretty  blonde  widow  commands 
almost  as  much  admiration  as  does  her  beau- 
tiful brunette  daughter  Ethel,  as  she  flits 
hither  and  thither  on  her  closely-shaven  lawn, 
seeing  to  the  amusement  and  well-being  of 
her  guests. 

She  has  achieved  a  great  social  success. 
The  lord-lieutenant  of  the  county  and  his 
wife  are  here,  and  the  Bishop  of  Allerton 
Towers  and  his  daughter;  and,  indeed,  every- 
body who  is  anybody  in  all  the  region  round 
has  accepted  her  invitation  for  lawn-tennis 
and    strawberries    and  cream  this  day.     But 


Mrs.  Heatherley  s  Garden  Party.  5 

she  feels  a  crumple  in  her  rose-leaf!  Her 
only  child  has  just  before  wilfull}'  engaged 
herself  to  a  hard-working  young  country 
surgeon,  and  now  a  marquis's  son  has  come 
and  found  her  fair. 

Such  a  marquis's  son  too !  It  is  all  very 
well  for  malignant  envy  and  jealousy  to  sneer, 
and  hint  that  the  Marquis  of  Monkstown 
derives  his  income  from  Irish  property — the 
rents  of  which  are   not  paid    in    these  days. 

Mrs.  Heatherley  knows  better.  His  lord- 
ship is  no  mere  feckless,  improvident,  out-at- 
elbows  Irish  peer !  Mrs.  Heatherley  has  it 
on  Mrs.  Townley's  authority  that  he  has  to 
do,  surreptitiously,  but  remuneratively,  with 
indigo  and  coffee,  and  that  he  can  snap  his 
fingers  at  his  non-rent-paying  tenants.  The 
eldest  son.  Lord  E.  Kenmare,  is  delicate,  if 
not  imbecile,  and  Lord  Marcus  is  the  second 
son — and — well — 

"A  coronet  would  become  Ethel  well,  and 
it's  not  with  my  consent  that  she  shall  throw 
herself  away  on  a  mere  country  practitioner," 
the  ambitious  lady  tells  herself;  and  imme- 
diately afterwards  she  makes  that  remark  to 


6  -Allerton  Towen^.. 


Ethel,  as  to  their  having  been  very  premature 
and  foohsh  in  enfjaa:ine^  themselves  to  one 
atiother,  which  Ethel  has  frankly  repeated 
to  her  lover. 

As  Mrs.  Heatherley  flutters  up  to  the 
young  pair,  into  the  music  of  whose  love 
and  contentment  she  has  introduced  a  dis- 
cordant strain,  she  looks  so  gladly  and  gaily 
unconscious  of  having  said  or  done  anything 
antagonistic  to  Mr.  Giffbrd's  interests,  that  he 
is  almost  inclined  to  believe  that  she  is  as  well 
pleased  with  the  engagement  as  she  professed 
herself  to  be  at  first.  Such  a  dear  little  airy 
impulsive  woman  !  So  evidently  quick  to  feel,, 
and  prompt  to  act  as  her  feelings  dictate ! 
Her  future  son-in-law  can  but  admire  her^ 
and  think  that  his  Ethel  has  perverted 
her  mother's  meaning,  rather  than  think 
Mrs,  Heatherley  is  either  inconsistent,  or  fool- 
ish enough  to  wish  to  displace  him  for  Lord 
Marcus    Boyne. 

Her  first  words  make  him  change  this 
view  of  things. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Giflbrd,"  she  begins,  in  her 
bright,  electrical,  young  Avay,  "(/o  forgive  me 


Mrs.  Heatherley  s  Garden  Party.  7 

for  putting  your  interest  before  your  pleasure ; 
I  am  going  to  take  you  away  from  Ethel,  and 
introduce  you  to  the  Bishop  and  Miss  Tem- 
pleton :  he  is  a  martyr  to  the  gout,  you 
know,  the  dear  old  thing,  and  if  you  are 
called  in  at  the  Palace,  the  whole  of  Aller- 
ton  Towers  will  be  sending  for  you  ;  Ethel, 
Miss  Templeton  has  been  sitting  alone  for  the 
last  ten  minutes !  I  can't  be  everywhere, 
can  I  ? "  she  continues,  appealingly ;  "  so 
you  must  sacrifice  yourself  a  little  to  our 
guests." 

"  The  Bishop  hasn't  the  gout  at  the  present 
moment,  so  he  dosen't  want  me,  and  Miss 
Templeton  is  exercising  her  maidenly  wiles 
on  Townley's  new  cub,  so  she  doesn't  want 
Ethel,"  Walter  Gifford  says,  in  a  way  that 
implies,  under  these  circumstances,  he  means 
to  keep  Ethel  to  himself — apart  from  the 
others — a  little    longer. 

Mrs.  Heatherley  makes  a  face  expressive 
of  excruciating  suffering,  and  then  explains 
the  cause  of  it. 

"  It  would  give  me  intejise  pain  if  the 
St.    Justs    and  the    Bishop    remark    that   my 


8  Allerton  Towers. 

daughter  neglects  her  social  duties,"  she  says, 
seriously  ;  "  and  as  Ethel  would  not  wish  me 
to  feel  pain  or  annoyance  on  her  account, 
she  will  do  as  I  wish  her,  of  course ;  and 
you  really  must  let  me  introduce  you  to 
his  lordship." 

She*  puts  a  coaxing  hand  on  the  young 
man's  arm  as  she  speaks,  and  he  feels  himself 
being  slowly  but  surely  propelled  towards 
the  ecclesiastical  potentate  whose  patronage 
she  professes  to  be  anxious  to  secure  for  him. 
Meantime,  he  sees  Ethel  going  off  in  the 
direction  of  Miss  Templeton,  who  is  bending 
a  gracious  ear  to  all  the  folly  it  pleases 
Lord  Marcus  to  utter.  Walter  Gifford's  pro- 
phetically-jealous heart  whispers  to  him,  that 
not  for  many  minutes  longer  will  the  Bishop's 
daughter  have  the  opportunity  of  so  visibly 
condescending  to  a  mere  man.  For  Ethel 
has  the  winning  power  to  a  rare  degree, 
and  Walter  knows,  from  sweetly  bitter  expe- 
rience, that  it  is  not  in  her  gracious  nature 
to  refrain  from  exercising    it. 

He  is  introduced  to  the  Bishop,  who  is 
urbane  to,  but  evidently  uninterested  in,  him ; 


Mrs.  Heatherleys  Garden  Party.  9 

in  spite  of  the  eulogistic  words  Avhicli  Mrs. 
Heatherley   speaks  of  him. 

"  My  lord,  allow  me  to  introduce  a  friend 
of  mine,  Mr.  Gifford,  one  of  the  few  people 
Avho  makes  this  wilderness  of  Allerton  en- 
durable   and  pleasant  to   me." 

In  response  to  this  direct  call  upon  his 
proverbial  urbanity,  the  Bishop  smiles  briefly, 
says  "  he  is  happy,  he  is  sure,  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  anyone  who  is  fortunate 
enough  to  find  favour  in  Mrs.  Heatherley's 
eyes ; "  and  then,  having  been  previously 
apprised  as  to  the  calling  of  the  young 
man,  who  is  now  supposed  to  be  a  suppliant 
for  his  favour,  goes  on  to  say  that  he  hopes 
"  he  finds  the  climate  salubrious  and  the 
population    healthy." 

"  The  instinct  of  self-preservation  makes 
me  regret  that  I  am  able  to  answer  your 
lordship's  hopes  satisfactorily,"  Walter  says, 
savagely ;  for  Ethel,  Miss  Templeton,  and 
Lord  Marcus  Boyne  have  just  sauntered  up 
to  the  group  of  Avhich  he  is  one,  and  he 
sees  a  look  of  merrily-malicious  amusement 
in  Ethel's  brown   velvet  eyes,  at  the  way  in 


10  AUerton  Toicers. 


which    her   mother   is   striving  to  make  him 
perform  for  patronage. 

"It's  just  Hke  papa  always  to  say  the 
wrong  thing  to  people  of  that  sort,"  Miss 
Templeton  mutters  to  Lord  Marcus,  and 
Ethel  hears  the  words  and  understands 
their  full  meaning. 

Her  colour  rises  with  her  generous  wrath. 
Shall  she  stand  by  and  hear  the  position  of 
her  lover — the  man  to  whom  her  troth  is 
plighted ! — assailed,  without  saying  one  word 
of  rebuke  ?  or  shall  she  spare  the  assailant, 
who  is  her  guest,  according  to  the  dictates  of 
hospitality  ?  For  a  moment  she  wavers,  then 
she   says : 

''  What  sort  of  people  does  the  Bishop 
say  the    right   thing  to,  Miss  Templeton?"' 

"  Oh,  to  our  own  class,  or  the  very  poor, 
papa  is  always  happy  in  his  expressions,  and  just 
what  he  should  be  in  manner  ;  but  to  people  of 
that  sort "  (and  Miss  Templeton,  as  she  speaks, 
nods  her  head  towards  the  young  surgeon) 
"the  Bishop  is  apt  to  be  uncomfortable." 

"  Local  apothecary,  isn't  he  ?  "  Lord  Marcus 
asks,  tersely. 


Mrs.  Heatherky' s  Garden  Party.         11 

"  Yes,"  Ethel  says,  facing  him  in  her  perfect 
prettiness  and  irreproachable  style,  "  that,  if 
you  please  to  call  him  so ;  and  something 
else,  as  I  please  to  call  him  ;  the  man 
who  is  going  to  marry  me,  by-and-bye ! — 
my  '  sweetheart,'  in  our  plain  old  country 
vulgar  tongue." 

The  young  fellow  she  addresses  is  very 
handsome,  very  thoroughbred,  very  fasci- 
nating and  dazzling  in  his  gay,  bright  way, 
but  he  is  very  boyish  still!  Consequently, 
he  bursts  into  a  loud,  rather  derisive  laugh, 
and  says: 

"  Come,  now.  Miss  Heatherley,  don't 
chaff  a  fellow^  too  much  ;  you  going  to  marry 
a  '  local  practitioner,'  that's  too  awfully  awful 
a  joke." 

"  But  I  am^'  Ethel  is  saying,  with  steady 
severity,  when  her  mother  again  intervenes. 

Flitting  up  in  the  most  guileless  way  pos- 
sible, the  active  little  parent-bird  is  by  the 
side  of  the  brave  but  injudicious  young 
one  in  a  moment. 

"Ethel,  dear.  Lady  St.  Just  was  saying  just 
now,  she  had  not  spoken  a  word  to   you  to- 


12  Allerton  Toicers. 

day ;  go  to  her,  my  child :  Miss  Templeton 
and  Lord  Marcus"  (this  with  ever  so  sweet  a 
smile)  "  will  excuse  you,  I  am  sure.  Lady  St. 
Just  is  quite  another  mother  to  my  child,"  the 
vivacious  little  hostess  says,  fluttering  in  be- 
tween her  two  guests,  and  contriving  to  direct 
Lord  Marcus's  attention  to  the  graceful  way 
in  which  Ethel  is  crossing  the  lawn  towards 
martial-looking  Lady  St.  Just. 

"  Then  she's  prepared  to  adopt  'Sawbones,' 
too,  I  suppose  ? "  Lord  Marcus  says,  impru- 
dently. He  has  yet  to  learn  that  Mrs. 
Heatherley  can  snub  as  well  as  she  can 
court. 

"  What  a  nice,  unsophisticated  boy  you 
are,"  she  says,  innocently  ignoring  the  fact 
that  youth  objects  to  few  things  so  much  as 
having  itself  forced  crudely  into  the  fierce 
light  of  sarcastic  observation;  "it's  an  old 
joke  from  Pickwick  to  call  a  surgeon  a  'saw- 
bones,'" she  continues,  in  an  explanatory 
tone,  to  Miss  Templeton  ;  isn't  it  refreshing 
to  meet  with  any  young  man  hi  these  days 
who  is  sufficiently  world-worn  to  quote  such 
nearly-forgotten   Avitticisms?  " 


Mrs.  Heatherleys  Garden  Party.         13 

Her  tone  is  so  full  of  feminine  kindness  as 
she  speaks  her  biting  words,  that  Lord  Mar- 
cus is  undecided  whether  he  ous^ht  to  hate 
her  for  the  rudeness,  which  may  be  uninten- 
tional, and  which  is  making  him  smart,  or 
like  her  for  the  liking  she  expresses  so 
openly  for  him !  Eventually  he  decides  in 
favour  of  doing  the  latter,  for,  besides  having 
the  claim  to  manly  toleration  of  being  a 
pretty  woman  still,  she  is  Ethel's  mother! 
And  already  his  heart  has  gone  out  to  Ethel, 
with  a  young  man's  pure,  adoring,  but  still 
passionate  love. 

So,  with  the  courtesy  of  his  caste,  he  ac- 
cepts the  snub  so  gracefully  and  graciously, 
that  Mrs.  Heatherley  is  half  inclined  to  regret 
having  given  it  to   him, 

"If  you  had  called  me  ''vulgarly  malicious,' 
instead  of  '  nice  and  unsophisticated,'  you 
would  have  been  nearer  the  mark,  Mrs. 
Heatherley,"  he  says,  with  proud  boyish  can- 
dour. "I  won't  err  again  in  your  estimation 
— at  least,  not  in  that  way." 

"And  on  my  side  I  promise  to  look  very  le- 
niently on  your  errors,"  Mrs.  Heatherley  says, 


14  Allerton  Towers. 

softly,  but  not  so  softly  but  that  Miss  Temple- 
ton  hears  the  words,  and  malignantly  repeats 
them,  by-and-bye,  to  her  right-reverend  father, 
whom  she  undutifully  suspects  of  a  desire  to 
change  his  state,  whenever  he  sees  much  of 
the  late  Mr.  Heatherley's  agreeable  and  good- 
looking  little  relict. 

Meantime,  the  onus  of  sustaining  a  conver- 
sation with  a  man  who  evidently  labours 
strenuously  to  converse  with  him,  is  becoming 
a  burden,  heavier  than  he  can  bear,  to  Walter 
Gifford.  With  that  fatal  perspicuity,  which 
is  one  of  the  gifts  which  become  curses  to 
true  love,  he  sees  all  that  Ethel  is  doing,  and 
all  that  Ethel's  mother  is  meaning  for  her. 
He  sees  her  drawn  into  the  magic  circle  which 
surrounds  fiercely-aristocratic  old  Lady  St. 
Just,  who  from  her  heights  of  age  and  rank, 
treats  Ethel  and  Lord  Marcus  as  boy  and  girl, 
and  thus  gives  them  the  opportunity  of  being 
more  intimate  and  familiar  than  they  other- 
wise would  have  been.  Though  he  does  not 
hear  the  words  they  speak,  for  the  Bishop 
beams  at  him  at  brief  intervals,  he  can  feel 
the  arrangements  for  future  meetinors  that  are 


Mrs.  Heatkerleys  Garden  PaiHt/.  15 

being  made  with  "her  ladyship's  cognisance  and 
sanction.  His  Ethel  will  be  riding  and  danc- 
ing and  playing  tennis  with  this  young  lord- 
ling,  whom  in  his  heart  he  is  calling  "  an  ar- 
rogant beast  of  a  boy,"  in  places  to  which  he 
— Walter  Gifford — will  have  no  right  of  ac- 
cess !  He  sees  it  all  now !  Her  mother's  re- 
cantation of  the  cordial  assent  she  had  given 
at  first  to  their  engagement ;  the  motive  for 
making  the  effort  to  get  the  St.  Justs  and  the 
Bishop  to  this  garden  party,  in  order  that 
Ethel  may  get  return  invitations  to  the  set  in 
which  Lord  Marcus  will  revolve ;  the  reason 
why  always  charmingly-dressed  Ethel  is  more 
charmingly  dressed  than  ever  to-day — all 
these  things  are  seen  and  understood  by  him 
with  horrible  distinctness,  and  summed  up 
tersely  in  his  own  mind  thus : 

"  The  mother's  a  designing  woman,  and 
she'll  try  to  make  Ethel  throw  me  over  for 
that  boy  with  a  handle  to  his  name  ;  but 
I'll  have  a  fight  for  her." 

"  I  don't  think  you  quite  admit  the  force 
of  my  remarks  ? "  the  Bishop  questions, 
suavely,    at    this   juncture,   and    Walter    Gif- 


16  Allerton  Towers. 

ford  ruins  his  chance  of  ever  being  called 
upon  to  assuage  gouty  pangs  in  the  episcopal 
feet  and  legs,  by  answering  bluntly : 

"  I  didn't  hear  them,  my  lord." 

"  Papa,  have  you  asked  Lord  Marcus  for 
to-morrow  ? "  Miss  Templeton  puts  in,  with 
a  little  air  of  eagerness,  which  is  meant  to 
show  "  the  mere  country  surgeon  "  that  he 
is  so  completely  outside  their  circle  that  they 
can  discuss  social  arrangements  before  him 
with  the  same  freedom  they  feel  before  ser- 
vants and  inferiors  generally. 

"  For  to-morrow  ?  "  the  Bishop  asks,  per- 
plexedly. 

"  Yes,  to  dinner !  don't  you  remember  ? 
Lord  and  Lady  St.  Just  are  coming  and  Mrs. 
Heatherley  and  Ethel." 

Walter  Gilford  turns  away  sharply  and 
hears  no  more.  In  another  moment  he  has 
gained  Ethel's  side,  and  detached  her  from 
the  aristocratic  group  who  are  seeking  to 
absorb  her. 

"  Ethel,"  he  begins,  a  little  too  gravely, 
"  why  haven't  you  told  me  that  you  dine  at 
the  Palace  to-morrow  ?  " 


Mrs.  Heatherleys  Garden  Party.  17 

"  Eeally,  Walter,"  Ethel  says,  with  some  of 
her  mother's  vivacity  (vivacity  which  strikes 
Mr.  Gifford  painfully  as  being  assumed) ; 
"  really,  Walter  !  did  I  undertake  to  tell  you 
where  I  dined  every  day  Avhen  we  became 
engaged  ? " 

"  You  put  it  in  a  way  that  makes  me  seem 
a  petty  tyrant,  even  in  my  own  eyes  ;  and  yet 
I  know  I'm  right  and  you're  wrong  the  whole 
time,"  he  says,  wearily  ;  and  Ethel,  quick  to 
mark  the  change  in  him,  has  lier  hand  on  his 
arm,  clasping  it  caressingly  in  a  moment. 

"Walter!  don't  look  tired  and  disap- 
pointed, it  hurts  me  ;  mother  told  me  not  to 
say  anything  about  dining  at  the  Palace,  '  it 
would  look  like  boasting,'  she  thought ;  and 
mother  has  such  perfect  taste  and  tact,  now, 
hasn't    she?" 

"  She  has  indeed !  such  perfect  taste  and 
tact  that  I  feel  I  jar  upon  her  at  every  turn 
to-day,"  he  says,  bitterly. 

"  No,  you  don't."  the  girl  cries,  with  quick 
compunction  ;  "  only  do  be  broad  and  look  at 
things  as  they  are,  and  not  try  to  distort  them 
into  what  you  think  they  ought  to  be ;  be  as 

VOL.   I.  C 


18  Allerton  Towers. 

friendly  with  Lord  Marcus  Boyne  as  he  Avoiild 
be  with  you,  and  take  it  for  granted,  Walter,, 
that  /  shall  keep  my  promise  as  sacredly  to- 
you  as  I  should  do  to  a  peer  of  the  realm."" 
The  girl  draws  herself  up  and  looks  proud 
and  noble,  true  and  trustworthy,  to  a  degree 
that  reassures  him,  as  she  says  this.  And  for 
the  hour  Walter  Gifford  is  satisfied  that  the 
idol  he  has  set  up  will  never  prove  false  to 
him. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    bishop's    daughter. 

do  the  Bishop  justice,  he  would 
rather  go  without  the  dinner  than 
give  it  to-day.  And  this,  not  be- 
cause he  is  an  ascetic  on  principle,  but  simply 
because  his  digestion  is  out  of  repair,  and  his 
bones  are  achino;. 

It  is  hard  on  him  that  these  things  should 
be,  for  he  has  lived  sparsely  for  many  a  long 
year ;  and  now  that  the  good  things  of  this 
life  are  about  him  abundantly,  he  does  not 
dare  to  indulge  in  them,  any  more  than  if  he 
had  revelled  in  them  from  his  cradle. 

But  his  daughter  has  ordained  this  dinner ; 
and  what  is  socially  ordained  by  Miss 
Templeton,  at  the  Palace,  is  as  the  laws  of 
the  Medes  and  Persians. 

At  times  she  runs  her  social  ways  mys- 
teriously, giving  out  an  impression  subtly 
that  she  has  a  deeper  meaning  hidden  in  her 

c2 


20  Allerton  Towers. 

virgin  heart  than  is  given  out  and  suffered  to 
appear  on  the  surface.  If  the  Bishop  utters 
a  faint  protest  against  the  expediency  of 
having  a  lawn-tennis  party,  when  the  clouds 
are  loweringly  threatening  rain  ;  or  hints  that 
it  would  be  pleasanter  for  him  to  defer  a  state 
dinner  until  such  time  as  there  might  be  a 
slight  chance  of  his  being  able  to  eat  some  of 
it,  his  daughter's  reply  invariably  crushes  out 
all    opposition. 

"  I  have  a  reason  for  having  it  now,  papa  ; 
you  know  I  never  do  anything  without  a 
motive." 

i  To-day,  Fanny  Templeton  has  a  very  strong 
motive  for  insisting  on  this  dinner  coming  off 
' — a  motive  that,  though  not  noble,  is,  at  least, 
essentially  feminine.  Her  mature  fancy  has 
been  favourably  affected  by  Mr.  Townley's 
handsome,  aristocratic,  gay-hearted  young 
pupil,  and  she  desires  to  give  him  the  chance 
of  reciprocating  her  flattering  sentiments. 
She  has  been  a  girl  so  long  that  she  cannot 
get  out  of  the  habit  of  thinking  herself  one 
still,  though  she  has  had  ten  more  years' 
experience  of  life  than  Lord  Marcus. 


The  Bishop's  Daughter.  21 

And,  to  be  quite  fair  to  her,  the  mistake  of 
regarding  herself  as  a  girl  still,  is  a  par- 
donable one  on  her  part ;  for  if  a  woman  is 
only  as  old  as  she  looks,  it  must  be  admitted 
that  Fanny  Templeton  looks  very  young 
indeed.  She  is  one  of  those  fair,  soft-looking 
women,  whose  cheeks  retain  the  roses  and 
roundness  of  youth  well   on  into  middle  age. 

She  has,  too,  one  of  those  coolly  constituted 
natures  that  never  take  it  out  of  their  pos- 
sessors by  giving  way  to  deep  or  violent 
emotions.  Her  blue  eyes  are  not  in  the  habit 
of  shedding  tears,  for  no  trouble  worth  crying 
about  has  ever  touched  herself,  and  she  is  a 
very  heroine  in  the  way  in  which  she  can 
calmly  contemplate  the  troubles  of  others. 
Her  father  has  been  Bishop  of  Allerton  Towers 
for  ten  years  now,  and  during  these  ten  years 
she  has  had  no  need  to  take  depressing  heed 
to  pecuniary  ways  and  means.  Additionally, 
she  has  had  thrust  upon  her  a  delightful  sense 
of  social  importance,  and  in  small,  soft  ways, 
social  importance  is  very  dear  to  the  good 
Bishop's  daughter.  Altogether,  the  circum- 
stances of  her  life  are  rejuvenating,  and  she 


22  Allerton  Towers. 

is  justified  in  feeling  that,  as  far  as  looks  go, 
age  need  be  no  barrier  to  the  alliance  she 
hopes  to  compass. 

But  Ethel  Heath erley  may  be !  Miss 
Templeton  rarely  deceives  herself,  whatever 
she  may  do  to  others  ;  and  she  admits  that, 
whereas  she  is  only  a  pretty  young  woman, 
Ethel  Heatherley  is  a  beautiful  young  girl, 
upon  whom  Lord  Marcus  Boyne  has  already 
bestowed  very  favourable  glances.  She 
recognises  the  fact  also  that  if  Ethel  does 
enter  the  lists  against  her,  that  it  will  be  a 
case  of  two  to  one  ;  for  Mrs.  Heatherley  will 
be  on  Ethel's  side,  and  Fanny  Templeton  is 
fully  aware  of  tlie  widow's  value  as  an  ally 
and  dangerous  qualities  as  an  opponent. 
And  these  two  are  not  t]ie  sole  barriers 
between  herself  and  holy  matrimony  with 
Lord  Marcus. 

The  Bishop  has  a  chaplain  ! 

This  fact,  as  an  isolated  one,  is  unim- 
portant. Every  Bishop  has  a  chaplain, 
and  frequently  nature  and  Providence  com- 
bine to  make  a  union  between  the  Bishop's 
chaplain  and  the  Bishop's  daughter  a  highly 


The  Bishop's  Daughter.  23 

desirable  thing.  But  in  this  case  Fanny 
Templeton  has  come  to  feel  that  it  would 
be,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  unadvisable  for 
her  to  throw  herself  away  on  a  mere 
Eeverend  Bernard  Grove,  when  it  is  in 
the  order  of  things  "  that  may  be "  that 
■she  shall  become  eventually  the  Marchioness 
of  Monkstown. 

It  is  true  that  "  things  have  been,"  between 
Bernard  Grove  and  the  Bishop's  daughter, 
which  are  not  now.  It  is  the  fashion  of 
smart  leader  writers,  reviewers,  and  others 
of  that  ilk,  to  represent  and  pretend  to 
believe  that  a  curate  is  necessarily  a  ratlier 
effeminate,  poor-spirited,  mild-game-playing, 
weakly,  flirting  sort  of  creature.  They 
heighten  the  obnoxious  tones  in  which  they 
paint  this  picture  by  sneering  allusions  to  the 
impunity  with  which  ladies,  young  and  old, 
may  "  pet "  the  shepherd  of  the  flock,  and 
assume  an  idiotic  air  of  surprise  if  a  curate 
— "  a  'poor  curate "  is  the  happy  phrase  to 
properly  describe  him — does  anything  that 
commends  itself  to  tlie  eyes  of  the  world 
as     indisputably     manly.       Why    this     idea 


24  Allerton  Towers. 

should  pervade  the  press-reviewing  and 
ordinary  fiction  writing  mind  is  incom- 
prehensible to  every  one  who  mixes  in 
decent  society,  and  knows  that  the  clergy 
are  quite  up  to  the  level  of  not  only 
"  gentlemanliness,"  but  "  manliness,"  as  ex- 
hibited by  the  members  of  any  other 
profession,  class,,  or  clique.  Nor  does  the 
person  who  mixes  in  this  aforesaid  decent 
society  find  that  the  "  poor  curate "  differs 
in  any  way  from  the  "  rich  rector  "  in  birth, 
breeding,  education,  or  manner.  But  those 
who  are  outside  the  pale  of  good  society  do 
not  understand  or  realise  this  truism.  And 
so  the  innumerable  vulgar  men  and  women, 
who  supply  cheap  periodicals  with  emo- 
tional stories  of  that  life  among  the  upper 
classes  of  which  they  know  nothing,  invari- 
ably portray  "  the  curate  "  as  a  susceptible 
ass,  or  a  scheming,  hungry  fortune-hunter, 
and  make  fatuous  jokes  about  his  goodness 
and  poverty  for  the  edification  and  amuse- 
ment   of    the    dissenting    masses. 

It  shall  be  told- at  once  that  Bernard  Grove 
is  not  a  type  of  either  of  these  classes.     He 


The  Bishop  s  Daughter.  25 

is  merely  an  honourable,  good,  good-looking, 
well-bred,  and  equally  well-read  gentleman. 
Poor  enough,  in  all  conscience,  to  satisfy  the 
greedy  desire  of  all  those  who  would  see  the 
priests  of  the  Lord  impecunious.  But  neither 
mean-spirited  nor  threadbare,  crawling  nor 
audacious  on  the  strength  of  his  spiritual 
position.  Only  a  gentleman !  gifted  with  the 
grace  of  high  culture  and  real  religious 
feeling. 

It  is,  however,  with  his  social  status  and 
his  social  career  only,  that  we  have  to  do  in 
these  chronicles  of  hfe  at   Allerton  Towers. 

He  has  been  the  Bishop's  chaplain  for  three 
years  now  ;  and  other  men,  interested  in  the 
question,  in  the  diocese,  are  beginning  to  say 
that  his  chances  of  a  good  living  from  his 
diocesan  are  going  off  rapidly.  For  Miss 
Templeton  has  visibly  cooled  towards  him 
recently,  and  it  is  tacitly  understood  that 
the  best  living  in  the  Bishop's  gift  will 
go  to  the  successful  clerical  wooer  of  the 
Bishop's    daughter. 

Other  chaplains  had  come  and  gone  before 
him,  but  something    had    always    intervened 


2G  Allerton  Towers. 


between  themselves  and  the  means  of  ob- 
tainmg  the  coveted  promotion.  In  two 
cases  it  had  been  a  wife  and  several 
children.  In  another,  a  band  of  hopeless, 
helpless,  penniless  sisters.  But  Mr.  Grove 
had  come  upon  the  stage  free  from  all 
encumbrances,  and  the  heart  of  the  Bishop's 
daughter  had  gone  out  to  him  gladly.  Un- 
fortunately, as  far  as  regards  his  chances  of 
gettinof  the  best  livino;  in  the  diocese,  he  had 
not  responded  with  flattering  celerity. 

But  after  a  time,  she,  showing  him  her 
liking  in  a  thousand  undemonstrative  ways, 
he,  being  only  a  man,  began  to  be  moved 
to  regard  her  in  the  light  of,  at  least,  a 
warm  and  dear  friend.  The  constant  daily 
intercourse  gradually  melted  the  bulwark  of 
indifference  behind  which  he  had  found 
safety  at  first,  and  when  once  she  had  com- 
pelled him  to  feel  that  she  was  both  pretty 
and  pleasant,  and,  moreover,  very  partial  to 
himself,    the   rest  was  easy. 

It  certainly  would  have  ended  in  his 
marrying  her,  and  thus  getting  that  good 
living    of   which     mention    has    been    made, 


The  Bishop  s  DaugJder.  27 

had  not  a  check  been  given  to  the  com- 
pletion of  the  half-formed  scheme  by  an 
unintentional  outsider. 

Things  are  in  this  state  of  check  now,  and 
have  been  ever  since  Lord  Marcus  Boyne 
came  so  blithely  within  the  borders  of 
AUerton  Towers.  For  Miss  Templeton  is 
quite  as  well  posted  up  in  the  probabilities 
of  Lord  Marcus  succeeding'  to  the  title  and 
estates  of  his  father  as  Mrs.  Heatherley  is. 
Accordingly-,  the  cool,  well-regulated  pulses 
of  the  Bishop's  daughter  cease  to  beat  for 
the  man  who  never  can  make  her  more 
than  a  rector's — perhaps  a  rich  rector's — 
wife,  and  throb  with  amiably  selfish  tender- 
ness for  the  handsome  boy  who  can  make 
her  a  marchioness. 

Fanny  Teraplelon  is,  perhaps,  as  cautious  a 
girl  as  ever  guided  herself  through  the  in- 
tricate ways  of  good  society.  But  there  are 
times  when  her  over-caution,  combined  with 
that  high  estimate  of  her  own  charms  which 
so  nearly  approaches  vanity,  betrays  that 
which  she  most  ardently  desires  to  conceal 

It  is  so  now,  and  though  she  h:is  never  >o 


28  AUerton  Towers. 

much  as  mentioned  Lord  Marcus's  name  to 
Mr.  Grove,  that  gentleman  knows  as  well  as 
she  does  herself  that  the  woman  who  was 
ready  to  be  his  wife  only  the  other  day,  is 
now  even  readier  to  be  the  wife  of  the  boy 
who  has  the  pleasure-loving  desire  to  taste 
all  that  is  sweetest,  as  well  as  the  bril- 
liancy of  the  butterfly. 

Mr.  Grove  sees  and  admits  this,  and  is,  to 
tell  the  truth,  not  very  much  piqued  at  it. 
His  feeling  for  the  lady,  who  has  been  using 
her  womanly  wiles  to  win  him,  is  not  suffi- 
cient for  resentment  to  take  the  place  of  the 
liking  she  herself  planted.  Accordingly,  he 
makes  no  change  in  his  manner  of  treating 
her,  with  the  kindly  intention  of  showing  her 
that  he  has  no  manner  of  objection  to  her 
carrying  her  new  point — if  she  can !  And 
she  misconstrues  this  considerate  thoughtful- 
ness  of  his,  and  thinks  that  he  is  determined 
to  consider  their  relations  unchanged,  and 
fears  she  may  have  some  difficulty  in  getting 
rid  of  him  without  the  shadow  of  a  scandal 
should  she  succeed  with  Lord  Marcus. 

On   the  other  hand,  she   does  not   deem   it 


The  Bishop's  Daughter.  29 

wise  to  burn  her  boats.  To  be  quite  off  with 
the  old  love  before  she  is  on  with  the  new,  is 
a  weak  policy  according  to  her  ideas.  So  she 
puts  her  manner  into  the  scales  with  her 
chances,  and  as  these  latter  go  up  and 
down,  so  shall  the  former  vary  delicately 
and  safely. 

It  is  grievous  to  Miss  Templeton  that  the 
Heatherleys  should  be  here  on  this,  the  first 
day  of  Lord  Marcus's  dining  with  them,  but 
it  is  better  to  have  him  with  them  than  not 
to  have  him  at  all.  Besides,  Ethel  Heath erley 
is  engaged,  and  though  she  believes  Ethel  to 
be  quite  as  capable  of  being  off  with  the  old 
love  if  a  satisfactory  new  one  appears  on  the 
horizon  as  she  is  herself,  still  she  will  make 
Lord  Marcus  feel  that  Ethel  is  devoted  to  her 
lover,  if  the  English  language  can  do  it. 

Through  the  whole  of  the  day  she  has 
successfully  evaded  a  tete-a-tete  with  Mr.  Grove, 
little  suspecting  that  he  has  not  made  the 
slightest  attempt  to  have  one  with  her.  On 
otlier  sultry  summer  days,, such  as  this,  it  had 
been  her  wont  after  she  has  seen  her  house- 
keeper and  ordered  the   domestic  doings  for 


30  Allerton  Towers. 

the  day,  to  go  out  on  the  velvet  lawn  through 
which  the  river  runs,  and  over  which  the 
grand  cathedral  casts  its  dignified  shadow, 
and  spend  the  hours  till  luncheon.  For  the 
Bishop's  study  window  peeps  out  through  an 
ivy  screen  upon  this  lawn,  and  when  the 
Bishop  and  his  chaplain  have  transacted  their 
morning's  business  of  seeing  suppliant  clergy, 
and  answering  a  budget  of  supplicating,  re- 
buking, or  defiant  letters  from  others,  what 
more  natural  than  that  the  younger  man 
should  get  himself  out  into  the  fresh  air 
under  the  waving  trees,  and  glance  through 
the  magazines  and  new  publications  with 
which  Miss  Templeton  always  sedulously 
provides  herself? 

But  the  "  old  order  changeth ! "  This 
morning  there  is  no  lady  on  the  lawn  ready 
to  look  up — with  a  smile  playing  over  the 
softly-tinted  rounded  cheeks,  and  the  prettily 
cut  pink  lips — at  his  approach.  Nevertheless, 
Mr.  Grove  takes  his  accustomed  seat  with  the 
air  of  one  who  is  perfectly  satisfied  with 
things  as  they  are,  and  reads  a  couple  of  stiff 
articles    in    The   Fortnightly   right     through, 


Tlie  Bishop's  Daughter.  3 1 

without  stopping  to  give  one  thought  to  the 
one  who  is  fancying  that  her  current  course 
of  conduct  is  giving  him  pain,  and  causing 
him  bewilderment. 

"  When  the  time  comes  for  him  to  knoAv  it,. 
he  shall  not  have  it  to  say  that  I  misled 
him  for  a  moment  after  I  began  to  care  for 
Marcus,"  Miss  Templeton  says  to  herself, 
complaisantly  ;  and  she  really  credits  herself 
with  holding  rather  exalted  sentiments,  and 
with  acting  in  an  irreproachable  manner. 

In  the  afternoon  it  is  her  custom  to  drive 
with  her  father  for  two  hours,  and  often, 
Avhen  any  of  the  country  magnates  are  to  be 
honoured  with  a  call,  Mr.  Grove  accompanies 
them.  Indeed,  the  city  of  AUerton  Towers 
itself  is  rarely  honoured  by  the  presence  of  its- 
Bishop,  and  the  city  clergy  are  never  invited 
to  partake  of  the  hospitality  of  the  palace..' 
Why  this  should  be  is  not  clear  to  the  secular 
mind,  which  does  not  understand  why  this 
delicate  line  should  be  drawn  between  the 
cathedral  and  the  city  clergy,  or  why  a  faint 
show  of  the  episcopal  favour  should  be  ex- 
tended   to    the    country  rectors    and  vicars^ 


•32  Allerton  Towers. 

which  is  withheld  from  their  brothers  in  the 
town.  But,  as  Miss  Templeton  says  of  her- 
self, she  never  does  anything  without  a 
motive,  and  Miss  Templeton  is  the  daughter 
of   her  father. 

On  this  exceptional  day,  however.  Miss 
Templeton  does  not  second  even  with  a  look 
the  Bishop's  suggestion  that  Mr.  Grove  shall 
drive  out  with  them  to  Collingham,  five  miles 
from  Allerton  Towers,  to  look  at  a  newly- 
erected  cliurch  which  the  Bishop  is  to  con- 
secrate during  the  ensuing  week.  On  the 
contrary,  she  puts  on  a  look  of  filial  solici- 
tude, and  exclaims  almost  tearfully  against 
the  gentle  exertion  which  her  father  is 
contemplating. 

"  The  effort  of  getting  into  this  room  was 
almost  too  much  for  you  this  morning,  papa," 
she  says ;  and  then,  for  the  first  time  this  day, 
she  lifts  her  lashes,  and  looks  Mr.  Grove  in 
the  face. 

"  I  am  sure  you  agree  with  me  that  it 
would  be  injudicious  in  the  extreme  on  papa's 
part  to  venture  out,  with  his  left  foot  swollen 
as  it  is  ? "    she    says,   appealingly  ;    and  Mr. 


The  Bishop's  Daughter.  33 


Grove  replies  with  an  air  of  good-humoured 
indifference  that  makes  her  fear  he  is  going 
to  obtusely  disregard  her  change  of  feeling 
respecting  him. 

"  I  am  sure  that  the  Bishop  can  settle  that 
question  for  himself;  but  as  regards  my  going 
with  you,  my  lord,  I  shall  ask  you  to  excuse 
me  to-day  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  but  I  thought  it  would  have 
been  well  for  you  to  find  out  what  they  mean 
to  do  at  Collingham  on  the  fifteenth,"  the 
Bishop  says,  testily.  The  vicar  of  Collingham 
is  beheved  to  be  as  much  in  favour  of  ad- 
vanced ritual  as  his  Bishop  is  opposed  to  it. 
And  it  adds  to  all  the  gouty  symptoms, 
this  lurking  fear  that  his  lordship  has,  that 
he  may  be  surprised  into  sanctioning  the 
coloured  vestments  and  other  things  which 
are  abominable  in  his  eyes,  if  his  chaplain 
does  not  reconnoitre  the  dubious  ground 
beforehand. 

"  I  think  I  may  safely  say  that  everything 
is  sure  to  be  done  decently  and  in  order  at 
Collingham  on  the  fifteenth,"  Mr.  Grove  says, 
speaking  far  too  cheerfully  and  approvingly 

VOL.  I.  D 


34  AUerton  Towers. 

of  that  local  head-centre  of  good  churchman- 
ship,   his   broad  Bishop   thinks. 

"I  specially  wished  to  go  to-day,"  the 
Bishop  says,  repiningly ;  and  his  daughter 
puts  in — 

"  Dear  papa,  don't  you  think  it  would  be 
better  to  keep  away  from  Collingham  till  the 
day?  You  can't  stand  altercation  on  any 
subject,  and  if  Mr.  llarcourt  means  to  make  a 
fight  for  certain  things  of  which  3:'ou  so 
pro])erly  disap})rove,  won't  it  be  easier  for 
you  to  put  it  down  with  authority  on  tlie  day 
when  your  presence  is  essential,  than  to 
quibble  about  it  beforehand?  I  am  sure  you 
think  I  am  rifr]it?"she  adds,  turning — with 
a  pathetic  look  of  reliance  on  his  always 
thinking  lier  that,  at  least — to  Mr.  Grove. 

"  I  think  you're  admirably  prudent  and 
perfectly  right  if  you  wish  to  save  the  Bishop 
from  being  troubled,"  Mr.  Gi-ove  saj's,  cheer- 
fully ;  and  again  Fanny  tells  herself  that  the 
"  poor  fellow  is  blinding  himself  to  her  change 
of  feeling,  and  that  it  will  be  a  heavy  trial  to 
her  b3^-and-bye  to  make  him  understand  that 
she  has  altered."     But  vnen  as  she  tells  her- 


The  Bisliops  Daiujluer.  35 

self  this,  she  cannot  help  seeing  that  Mr- 
Grove  is  very  unconcerned,  not  to  say  in- 
different, about  missing  the  opportunity  of 
driving  with  her  this  afternoon. 

The  end  of  it  is  that  the  Bishop,  rendered 
litigious  by  the  absence  of  his  chaplain  and 
the  presence  of  his  daughter,  in  an  absent 
mood,  goes  out  to  Gollingham,  and  finds  fault, 
that  he  feels  to  be  uncalled  for,  with  most  of 
the  arrangements  which  the  vicar  has  made 
for  the  fifteenth.  So  the  pebble  thrown  into 
the  social  pool,  innocently  enough,  by  Lord 
Marcus  Boyne,  is  making  rapidly  widening 
circles. 

Out  on  the  lawn  while  they  are  away  this 
afternoon,  the  chaplain  sits  reading,  and  now 
a,nd  aiijain  reviewinoj  the  situation. 

"Poor  old  fellow! — he  hasn't  been  taught 
yet  that  I  am  to  be  petted  no  longer,"  he  half 
laughs  to  himself,  and  then  for  a  few  minutes 
he  does  seriously  consider  whether  or  not 
Fanny  Templeton  is  the  kind  of  woman  whom 
it  would  be  well  for  him  to  make  his  wife? 
After  a  brief  period,  he  ^ays,  with  an  air  of 
relief,  "  Well !  she  has  settled  it  easily  for  me, 

D  2 


36  Allerton  Towers. 

as  it  happens ;  it  might  have  been,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  this  young  fellow's  opportune 
appearance :  as  it  is ! — I  hope,  for  old  time's 
sake,  she  won't  make  a  fool  of  herself ;  Marcus 
Boyne  is  a  mere  boy,  and  will  regard  her  as 
an  old  woman." 

When  the  Bishop  and  his  daughter  come 
back  from  Collingham  they  find  Mr.  Grove 
ready  to  welcome  them  with  unusual  impres- 
siveness. 

"  Such  capital  news  I  have  had  by  the  five 
o'clock  post,"  he  says,  with  animation,  "  my 
old  friend,  Colereigh,  has  been  offered  a 
colonial  Bishopric  —  Fitz-Spitzburg  —  some- 
where up  the  South  African  diamond  fields,  I 
fancy ;  he's  coming  over  to  see  me  before  he 
goes :  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  wants  me  to 
go  with  him." 

"They're  giving  these  colonial  bishoprics  to 
the  wrong  men,"  the  Bishop  says,  testify,  "we 
ought  to  send  out  men  of  moderate  views,  not 
those  who  offer  themselves  as  violent  contrasts 
to  those  of  us  at  home  who  like  to  go  on 
quietly,  and  are  averse  to  ceremonial." 

"Some  of  those  at  home  go  on  so  quietly 


T]ie  Bishop's  Daughter.  37 

that  the  heathen  might  be  forgiven  for 
imagining  that  sleep  and  sloth  in  religious 
matters  were  the  things  needful,"  Mr.  Grove 
replies,  and  Fanny  says,  hastily — 

" Missionary  work  would  suit  you  I'm  sure; 
you  like  roughing  it  and  opposing  people ; 
now  for  my  part  I  feel  that  I  could  only  be 
good  in  an  atmosphere  of  peace." 

("She  fears  I  may  ask  her  to  go  with  me, 
poor  girl !  "  the  chaplain  thinks.) 

Lord  St.  Just  takes  Miss  Templeton  in  to 
dinner  this  night,  in  the  order  of  things.  He 
is  a  pleasant  old  gentleman — when  he  has 
been  kept  away  from  strong  waters  for  some 
hours — full  of  scientific  information,  which  he 
is  willing  to  impart  to  anybody  who  listens  to 
him  with  appreciative  understanding,  but 
rather  apt  to  relapse  into  a  grimly-smiling, 
and  silently-ironical  frame  of  mind,  when  his 
words  of  wisdom  are  not  w^aited  upon.  This 
is  the  case  now,  for  on  Miss  Templeton's  other 
side  is  Lord  Marcus  Boyne,  separated  by  some 
two  others  on  the  same  side  of  the  table  from 
Ethel  Heatherley. 

"  He  shall  not  even  see  her  during  dinner," 


38  Allerton  Tower. 


the  astute  hostess  has  declared ;  "  aud  I  shall 
interest  him  sufficiently  to  make  him  come  to 
me  instead  of  to  her  in  the  evening." 

If  Miss  Templeton  were  quite  candid  she 
would  confess  to  herself  that  by  "  interesting 
him  "  she  means  that  she  hopes  "  to  disgust 
him  with  Ethel,"  by  speaking  of  the  latter's 
engagement  to  Mr.  Gilford,  "  one  of  the  town 
surgeons." 


rmm. 


im 


CHAPTEE  III. 

"  I  SHALL  NEVER  EORGET  YOU  ;  NEVER ! " 

T  was  touch-and-go  whether  I  came  to- 
^^  night  or  not ;  I'd  made  an  engage- 
ment, before  I  had  your  invitation,  to 
go  with  some  fishermen,  and  see  wliat  they 
call  a  seine  drawn :  I  forgot  that,  you  see, 
when  I  said  I  would  dine  here,  and  to-night  I 
forgot  I  Avas  coming  here,  and  was  going  off 
with  them,  when  Mrs.  Townley  charged  at  me 
witli  a  rebuke  and  a  reminder." 

Lord  Marcus  makes  this  unflattering  con- 
fession with  a  candid  coolness  that  disarms 
Miss  Templeton's  resentment.  It  is  not  a 
difficult  task  for  a  woman  who  wishes  to  be  a 
marchioness  to  pardon  a  small  slight  from  the 
man  who  may  make  her  one. 

"Oh!  it's  so  dangerous  going  out  with  the 
seine;  I  should  have  been  dismal  all  the 
evening  if  you  had  forgotten  us  for  the  iisli," 
Miss  Templeton  says,  pathetically. 


40  Allerton  Toicers. 

"  I  wouldn't  regret  tlie  fish  for  a  moment, 
if  you  had.  put  me  next  to,  or  opposite  to, 
that  lovely  Miss  Heatherley,"  he  rephes, 
ungratefully. 

Miss  Templeton  presses  her  lips  a  trifle 
closer  together,  and  lowers  her  eye-lashes 
for  a  moment.  Then  she  hfts  the  cloudless, 
blue  eyes  with  a  smile,  and  says  : 

"  Perhaps  you  would  have  found  her 
even  a  duller  companion  than  you  are 
finding  me,  she  is  not  like  the  same  girl 
she  was  before  her  engagement ;  so  dread- 
fully engrossed  with  thoughts  of  the  absent 
love,  that  she  is  almost  useless  now  in 
society." 

"  It  is  not  really  an  engagement,  is  it  ? " 
Lord  Marcus  asks,  kindling  to  the  topic. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  a  real  engagement,  and  it 
will  be  quite  a  love  match,  in  spite  of  all 
her  mother's  machinations,"  Miss  Templeton 
laughs.  "  Poor  Mrs.  Heatherley !  her  own 
day  is  done,  and  she  may  easily  be  forgiven 
for  being  a  little  disappointed  at  Ethel's  having 
fallen  so  desperately  in  love  with  a  man  who 
hasn't  much  of  a  home,  and  no  position  what- 


"  /  Shall  Never  Forget  You ;  Never  /  "    41 

ever  to  offer  her ;  but  Ethel  will  have  her 
own  way  in  this  as  in  other  things." 

Lord  Marcus  fixes  his  sparkling  eyes  on  her, 
Avith  a  serious  expression  in  them,  which 
gives  a  new  charm  to  his  boyish,  handsome 
face,  and  is — silent. 

There  is  a  little  awkwardness  in  renewing 
the  conversation,  as  he  will  not  aid  her  ;  but 
she  is  equal  to  the  task,  for  she  has  a  few 
more  shots  to  fire. 

"  For  my  own  part,  I  am  glad  it  is 
settled  so,  for  I  am  very  fond  of  Ethel,"  she 
begins,  looking  fondly  down  the  table  at  Miss 
Heatherley's  profile.  "  I'm  very  fond  of  her, 
very;  but  she  has  been  such  a  silly  little, 
easy-dazzled,  little  fiirt,  that  it  is  a  comfort 
to  know"  she  is  settled  at  last  with  a  man  who 
is  able  to  take  care  of  her." 

"  I  think  she  can  take  care  of  herself." 

Miss  Templeton  laughs  and  shakes  her  head. 

"  She's  only  a  little  rustic  after  all,  you 
know ;  poor  Mrs.  Heatherley  gives  herself 
dreadful  airs — to  a  great  extent,  I  fear,  be- 
cause we  have  noticed  them  a  good  deal — but 
Ethel  knows  nothing  of  society  ;  if  it  had  not 


42  Allerton  Towers. 

been  for  this  marriage  (Lord  Marcus  winces) 
I  should  have  had  her  in  town  with  me  next 
season " 

"  What  a  stir  she'd  have  made,"  he  mur- 
murs with  enthusiasm,  "  she  is  prettier  than 
the  prettiest  woman  I  saw  at  the  princess's 
ball  just  before  I  came  down,  and  all  the 
beauties  who  are  in  the  best  swim  were 
there." 

"It  will  not  be  much  use  for  a  country 
surgeon's  wife  to  make  a  stir  in  the  '  best 
swim,'"  Miss  Templeton  says,  coldly.  Then 
she  remembers  Lord  St.  Just's  claims  on  her, 
and  tries  to  give  her  undivided  attention  to 
him  for  five  minutes,  hoping  that  Lord  Marcus 
Boyne  will  feel  punished  by  her  neglect. 

Lord  St.  Just  has  taken  sufficient  wine 
at  this  juncture  to  make  him  feel  bitter 
about  having  been  debarred  fi'om  speaking  of 
his  favourite  hobby  for  so  long  a  time. 
Accordingly  he  is  not  in  charity  with  anyone, 
least  of  all  with  tlie  man  who  has  been 
preferred  to  him  by  liis  one  socially  legal 
auditor. 

"  Is    that    vouno-  fellow   as    witless    as    his 


"  /  Shall  Never  Forget  You ;  Never !  "    43 


brother  Kenmare,  that  you  have  to  waste 
so  many  words  in  makmg  him  understand 
that  he's  not  to  cast  his  eyes  at  pretty  Miss 
Heatherley,"  he  says,  sardonically,  and  Miss 
Templeton  could  eat  him  as  she  feels  that 
Lord  Marcus  hears  the  speech  and  is  amused 
by  it. 

"  Pretty  Miss  Heatherley  is  so  hopelessly 
attached  to  her  rather  rough  hero,  that  I  have 
no  need  to  caution  Lord  Marcus  against 
falling  into  the  pit  which  her  ambitious 
mamma  is  quite  prepared  to  dig  for  him," 
Fanny  says,  presently,  and  Lord  St.  Just 
gnashes  his  teeth  and  smiles,  and  compli- 
ments Miss  Templeton  on  that  •'  well-known 
enofineerino-  skill  whicli  will  doubtless  enable 
her  to  undermine  Mrs.  Heatherley." 

All  this  time  she  has  nearly  forgotten  Mr. 
Grove,  who  is  down  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  near  enough  to  the  Bisliop  to  come  to 
the  rescue  should  liis  lordship  uuAvarily  fall 
into  any  theological  difficulties.  There  is  a 
good  deal  of  excitement  frequently  about  this 
task  of  extricating  the  Bishop,  for  he  is  apt 
to    forc^et,    at    times,    that   he    has    solemnly 


44  Allerton  Towers. 

pledged  himself  to  the  rigorous  observance  of 
certain  forms  and  ceremonies,  which  occa- 
sionally he  denounces  as  "  puerile,  childish, 
popish,  and  altogether  abominable.'  The 
duty  of  figuratively  picking  his  lordship 
up,  setting  him  erect  before  the  Church  and 
the  world,  and  saving  him  from  falling  into 
unconscious  heresy,  is  ofttimes  a  hard  one. 
But  Mr.  Groves  does  his  best  to  perform  it, 
and  his  best  is  the  work  of  a  churchman,  a 
gentleman,  and  a  peacemaker. 

He  has  been  having  a  hard  time  of  it 
during  this  dinner,  for  CoUingham  is  on  the 
tapis^  and  the  Bishop,  supported  by  some  re- 
cently delivered  judgments,  is  as  a  lion  on 
the  subject  of  one  or  two  things  that  will 
give  him  extra  trouble  if  he  does  "  not  stamp 
them  out,"  as  he  vehemently  expresses  the 
operation  he  proposes  to  himself.  To  revise, 
cancel  some  portion  of,  and  generally  edit, 
the  Bishop  during  the  heat  of  a  controversy 
into  which  he  has  hurled  himself  unsupported 
by  facts,  has  been  a  ^sk  for  a  Titan.  But 
Mr.  Grove  has  not  only  undertaken  it,  but 
actually  carried  it  through. 


"7  Shall  Never  Forget  You;  Never!''    45 

And  all  the  while  he  has  been  in  this  fray. 
Miss  Templeton  deludes  herself  (when  she  has 
time  to  think  about  him  at  all)  with  the  idea 
that  he  has  been  aching  and  seething  at  the 
sight  of  his  successful  rival  on  her  left  hand. 

They  go  ■  into  the  drawing-room  presently, 
and  Ethel  instantly  finds  her  way  to  a  deep 
old  bow  window,  with  cushioned  seats  in 
its  recess,  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  She 
takes  up  her  position  without  let  or  hin- 
drance from  Fanny  Templeton,  for  this  win- 
dow is  remote  from  the  piano  and  other 
points  of  general  attraction  in  the  room, 
and  the  girl,  engaged  as  she  is,  will  not  have 
the  face  to  seclude  herself  in  such  a  corner 
with  a  man.  Miss  Templeton  thinks. 

Fanny  has  found  out  that  Lord  Marcus  is 
fond  of  music,  and  sings  and  plays  a  little 
himself.  It  is  a  terrible  trial  to  her  now,  that 
she  should  have  disregarded  the  efforts  her 
music  and  singing  masters  made  in  years 
gone,  by,  to  instil  something  like  artistic  feeling 
into  her ;  for,  intuitively,  she  feels  that  Lord 
Marcus  will  not  listen  tolerantly  to  mere 
namby-pamby   prettiness,    such    as     she    can 


46  AllertOn  Tower 


deliver.  With  a  further  pang,  she  reflects 
that  Ethel  Heatherley  plays  the  viohn,  and 
plays  it  well,  too,  for  an  amateur!  Blessings 
from  Miss  Tem]3leton  for  her  own  far-sighted- 
ness in  not  having  asked  Ethel  to  bring  her 
violin  to  night. 

In  a  short  time  it  all  seems  to  be  going 
as  Fanny  wishes.  Old  Lady  St.  Just  has  got 
Mrs.  Heatherley  well  within  her  gossiping 
clutches,  so  that  there  is  nothing  to  be  feared 
from  the  widow,  as  regards  the  Bishop,  yet 
awhile.  Mr.  Grove  is  discussing  the  possi- 
bilil}^  and  advisability  of  making  an  under- 
ground railway  right  into  the  lieart  of  Dart- 
moor ;  tlius  rendering  access  to  tlie  most 
picturesque  points  easy,  and  at  the  same 
time  preserving  the  wikl  aspect  of  the  place 
unimpaired.  Other  people  have  grouped 
themselves  together  more  or  less  unconge- 
nially  and  incongruously,  and  Lord  Marcus 
is  safely  landed  at  that  bane  to  peace  in  the 
majority  of  houses — the  piano. 

"  Mrs.  Townley  tells  me  you  have  such  a 
lovely  voice,  and  sucli  a  perfect  style,*'  she 
says;  and  he  lauglis  Inioyanlly. 


"  /  Shall  Never  Forget  You  ;  Neve?- !  "    47 


"Mrs.  Townley  knows  little  of  music  and 
less  of  styles.  My  voice  is  good  enough  as 
far  as  nature  goes,  but  I  haven't  had  much 
good  training." 

"  But  3^ou  will  sing  something  to  oblige  us  ? 

It  will  be  such  a  pleasure  to  hear  you  !     ( )li, 

do ! " 

She  begins  to  pick  a  nund^er  of    songs  out 

of  the  music-stand,  but  he   rej^ulses  her,  and 

refuses  them  politely. 

"  Haven't  learnt  one  of  them.  Miss  Temple- 
ton,  and  wouldn't  offend  your  ears  by  crudely 
singing  anything  I  hadn't  learnt,"  he  says, 
gallantly ;  but  she  knows  that  he  is  looking 
about  for  Ethel  as  he  speaks.  Suddenly  he 
discerns  Miss  Heatherley,  and  crosses  over  to  , 
lier  leisurely,  quite  regardless  of  the  expres- 
sion of  mingled  spite  and  admiration  in  the 
blue  eyes  which  follow  him. 

"  Wdl  you  })lay  an  accompaniment  for 
me?"  he  asks,  gently;  "'Twickenham  Ferry;' 
you    know    it." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  says,  rising  swiftly, 
and  coming  out  of  the  mysterious  light  of 
the  recess  with  a  bright  gladness  in  lier  ftice 


48  AlUrton  Towers. 

and  manner  that  undoes  all  Miss  Templeton's 
work.  "I  wish  I  had  my  fiddle  here,"  she 
goes  on,  as  she  seats  herself  at  the  piano,  "  it 
goes  with  the  violin,   oh !    so   deliciously." 

She  seems  half  appealing  to  Miss  Temple- 
ton  for  an  endorsement  of  her  sentiments  re- 
specting her  beloved  violin,  but  that  lady's 
heart   is    hardened    towards    her. 

"A  little  bird  has  Avhispered  to  me  that  Mr. 
Gifford  wishes  your  choice  had  fallen  on  any 
Q.ther  musical  instrument  than  the  violin, 
Ethel ;  how  will  he  like  your  speaking  of  it 
as    '  your   fiddle  ?  '  " 

Ethel  turns  slowly  to  the  piano,  draws  off 
her  many  buttoned  gloves  without  the 
slightest  sign  of  haste  or  annoyance,  flutters 
her  small,  nervous  hand  over  the  keys,  and 
looks  up  into  Lord  Marcus's  face  with  a  smile 
for  wliich  Fanny  could  kill  her. 

"  Now !  "  Ethel  says ;  and  the  pleased, 
enamoured  young  fellow  sings  "  Twickenham 
Eerry,"  to  her  sympathetic  accompaniment,  in 
a  way  he  has  never  sang  it  before — or  since ! 

They  all  listen  to  him,  and  to  her — spell- 
bound, till  the  last  echo  of  the  last  whispering 


"  /  Shall  Never  Forget  You ;  Never ! "    49 

notes  die  out ;  then  a  chorus  of  thanks  and 
admiration  greet  both  the  briUiant  young 
performers. 

In  listening  to  the  thriUing  strain,  the 
Bishop  has  forgotten  ColHngham  and  his  gout, 
but  both  are  rapidly  recalled  to  him  when 
his  daughter  crosses  over,  and  whispers : 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  song  itself,  but 
the  way  her  playing  prompted  him  to  sing  it 
was  simply  shocking !  Speak  to  Ethel,  papa, 
for  her  own  sake ;  point  out  the  impropriety 
of  that  daring,  defiant  style ;  and  don't  hint 
to  her  that  I  have  asked  you  to  do  it,  or  the 
poor,  vain,  silly  child  may  think  I'm  jealous 
of   her." 

So,  at  the  bidding  of  his  exemplary  child, 
the  good  Bishop  presently  calls  Ethel  to  his 
side,  and  unwillingly  reproves  her. 

"  It's  a  dreadful  song  for  that  boy  to  have 
sung  in  the  Palace,  before  me,"  he  says,  as 
austerely  as  he  can  bring  himself  to  speak  to 
the  pretty  widow's  prettier  daughter,  "  and 
I'm  sorry  to  find  that  you  are  so  well 
acquainted  with  it  as  to  be  able  to  play  it  in 
a  way  that  must  have  shocked  everybody." 


50  Allerton   Tower 


'•  What  harm  is  there  in  the  song  ?  I'll  ask 
you  about  my  playing  the  accompaniment 
afterwards,"  Ethel  asks,  respectfully ;  but 
there  is  a  light  in  her  brown  velvet  eyes, 
that  shows  she  is  ready  for  battle. 

. "  No  actual  harm,  but  it's  altogether  not 
quite  the  song  for  a  lady  or  gentleman  to 
sing  in  a  drawing-room  before  other  ladies 
and  gentlemen." 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen  listen  to  it  de- 
lightedly at  concerts." 

"  In  private  society  it  is  not  well  that  the 
full  meaning  should  be  put  either  into  the 
words  or  air,"  the  Bishop  says,  dictatorially ; 
and  then,  satisfied  that  he  has  said  enough  to 
satisfy  his  daughter  and  his  conscience  for  the 
present,  he  resumes  his  conversation  with  the 
Townleys,  and  leaves  Ethel  to  reflect  on  his 
counsels. 

Humming  the  last  two  lines  of  the  song 
which  has  been  the  cause  of  her  disgrace, 
Ethel  saunters  away  to  her  seat  in  the  win- 
dow again,  and  there,  behind  the  curtain,  is 
Lord  Marcus. 

"  I  didn't  see  you  come,"  she  says ;   and  he 


"  I  Shall  Never  Forget  You;  Never!"    51 

knows  there  is  no  girlish  subterfuge  here ; 
she    did    7iot   see    him  come. 

"  Isn't  it  the  best  place  in  the  room  ?  "  the 
girl  goes  on,  never  lowering  her  voice  a  half- 
tone, but  speaking  out  so  that  all  in  the  room 
may  hear  if  they  be  minded  to  listen.  "  The 
view  is  lovely,  and  we  needn't  talk." 

She  plants  herself  on  the  low  seat  op- 
posite to  him,  and  he  crosses  to  her  side 
quickly. 

"It  is  the  best  place  in  the  room,  for  it's 
the  place  you're  in ;  and  I  can't  look  at  the 
view,  lovely  as  it  is,  while  I  can  look  at  you  ; 
and  as  for  one  not  talking,  I  must  say  some- 
thing to  you.     May  I  ?  " 

"  You  say  '  you  must,' "  she  says,  looking  at 
him  with  wonder  in  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  I  must.  It  is  this  :  I  shall  never 
forget  you,  never  !     And  you  are  engaged  ?  " 

"  I  am  engaged  to  Mr.  Gifford ;  I  told  you 
that  myself,  yesterday,"  she  says,  looking  at 
him  too  kindly. 

"  And  yesterday  I  heard,  and  didn't  care 
whether  I  believed  it  or  not ;  to-night  I've 
heard  it  again.     It  was  dinned  into  my  ears 

K  2 


52  Allerton  Town's. 

all  through  dinner,  and  now  I  can't  bear  to 
believe  it.     Do  you  know  why  ?  " 

"  Because  you  like  me  yourself,  I  suppose," 
the  girl  says,  proudly ;  "  that's  the  only 
reason  I  can  think  of,  and  I'm  sorry." 

"  Oh  !  Ethel,  it's  because  I  love  you,"  he 
says,  bending  nearer  to  her  —  worshipping 
her  with  the  pure  worship  of  a  young 
man's  first  passionate  love — "don't  be  sorry 
for  me,  whichever  way  it  goes ;  be  glad, 
for  if  I  ever  can  gain  you  it  will  be  my 
life's  happiness,  and  if  I'm  to  lose  you ! 
Well !  be.  glad  I  have  loved  you,  won't 
you?" 

"  You'll  forget  me  and  your  fancy  in  a 
week,"  Ethel  says ;  and  she  tries  to  say  it 
steadily,  and  tries  to  believe  that  she 
means  it. 

"  Forget  you  !  "  He  rises  up,  and  stands 
before  her  straight,  erect,  beautiful  in  his 
youth  and  strength,  and  love  for  her. 

"  Forget  you  !  Is  it  because  I'm  younger 
than  the  man  in  whose  love  you  are  going  to 
rely  that  you  think  mine  will  fade?  or  is  it 
because  you  despise  me  for    having  been  so 


"  /  Shall  Never  Forget  You ;  Never ! "     53 

quickly  won,  that  you  think  I  shall  be 
lightly  lost?" 

"  No ;  it's  because  I  love  the  other  one  best 
that  I  say  you'll  soon  forget  me ;  because  I 
hope  you  will." 

"  Best !  Then  you  do  feel  something — 
liking  or  something  for  me  ? "  he  pleads, 
eagerly ;  but  before  Ethel  can  answer  him, 
Miss  Templeton  dances  into  the  recess,  and 
puts  her  hand  within  Ethel's  arm. 

"  I  hope  the  others — the  Townleys  especi- 
ally— haven't  noticed  this,  Ethel,"  she  whis- 
pers, and  the  grip  on  Ethel's  arm  grows 
vicious  as  she  says  it.  Then  she  adds  aloud 
to  Lord  Marcus  : 

"Mr.  Townley  has  said  good-night  to  us, 
and  the  carriage  is  at  the  door ;  do  you  go 
with   them?" 

"  No.  I  shall  walk  home  to-night,"  he 
says,  gloomily. 

"  Walk  !  impossible  !  it's  five  miles.  Stay 
here,  my  father  will  be  most  happy  if  you 
will,  I  am  sure ;  if  you  are  determined  not  to 
drive." 

"  Thanks,  Miss  Templeton,  but  to  stay  here 


54  Allertoji  Toicers. 

would  be  more  impossible  still ;  in  the  first 
place  I  have  no  clothes  with  me,  and  in  the 
second  place " 

"What?" 

"  I  have  no  inclination— to  stay  without 
them,"  he  says,  lazily ;  and  then  lie  takes 
Ethel's  hand,  and  mutters  "good-night"  to  her. 

"  Good-night,  good-bye,"  Ethel  says,  rather 
chokingly  ;  it  is  a  bit  of  romance,  and  she 
rather  likes  it.  Still  she  thinks  it  would  be 
well  to  end  it ! — while  yet  there  is  time  ! 

"  It  isn't  '  good-bye, '  "  Lord  Marcus  says, 
impetuously  ;  "  it  can't  be  that — when  you're 
the  one  person  in  the  world  I  want  to  see 
again." 

He  wrings  her  hand,  and  something  in  the 
strong  grasp  impresses  her  with  the  truth 
and  reality  of  what  he  has  been  saying  to  her. 
A]id  she  cannot  but  be  pitiful  towards  the 
man  who  has  given  his  love  to  her  so  un- 
reservedly and  quickly,  and  to  whom  slie 
feels  convinced  she  can  never  give  her  love 
in  return. 

As  soon  as  he  is  gone  Miss  Templeton 
drops  her  mask  of  sweetness. 


"  r Shall  Xever  Forget  You;  Never  V    55 

"  Ethel !  "  she  begins,  in  a  tone  of  reproba- 
tion ;  "  you  have  been  more  than  fooHsh  to- 
night ;  even  papa  spoke  of  the  way  in  which 
you  played  just  now,  so  professional  and 
showy,  not  at  all  what  we  -could  have  wished 
to  liear  in  our  drawing-room  ;  and  then,  to 
cap  such  an  exhibition,  you  retire  into  a 
dark  corner  with  a  young  man  who  is  a 
stranger,  and  flirt  with  him  in  a  way  that 
must  have   amused  him." 

Ethel's  eyes  flash  in  the  growing  darkness 
— "  Don't  call  me  '  Ethel '  when  you  speak  to 
me  in  that  way,  Miss  Templeton,  or  rather 
never  speak  to  me  again  till  you  can  remem- 
ber that  I  am  neither  your  dependent  nor 
your  servant,  but  your  equal ;  and  as  for 
your  father's  opinion  of  my  manner  of  play- 
ing, you  worded  it  for  him,  and  made  him 
say  it,  because  you  knew  Lord  Marcus  sang 
the  song  as  if  he  loved  it  simply  because  I 
played  it  for  liim," 

"  Oh,  Ethel ! "  Miss  Tem])leton  cries,  des- 
perately, feeling  that  if  she  has  driven  Ethel 
into  (^pen  rebellion,  the  girl  will  hold  no 
terms,   will    keep  no    covenant. 


56  Allerton  Towers. 

"I  am  'Miss  Heatherley'  to  you,  if  you 
please,  until  you  tell  me  you  are  sorry  for 
having  insulted  me,"  the  girl  cries,  pas- 
sionately. "Wasn't  it  bad  enough  to  be 
tempted " 

She  checks  herself  abruptly,  walks  like  a 
queen  into  the  lighted  room,  and  bending 
over  lier  mother,  whispers,  "  We  have  stayed 
too  late,  mother  dear  !  come  !  " 


A. 

w 


CHAPTEE    IV. 

IS    SHE   JEALOUS? 

jiT  is  the  morning  after  the  dinner  at  the 

Palace,  and  Ethel  Heatherley  is  out  in 

tlie  garden  at  the  back  of  her  mother's 

pretty  cottage,  alone  with  thoughts  that  are 

not  pleasant. 

She  cannot  help  admitting  to  herself  that 
she  did  like  that  brief,  spasmodic  bit  of 
romance  which  flashed  into  her  life  so  un- 
expectedly on  the  previous  evening.  She 
liked  it  at  the  time,  and  remembers  it  with 
blushes  and  pride,  and  pleasure  now.  And 
for  doing  this  she  knows  she  ought  to  be 
thoroughly  ashamed  of  herself,  for  the  man 
whom  she  is  pledged  to  marry  has  announced 
that  he  is  coming  to  have  a  serious  talk  with 
her  this  morning,  and  he  is  not  the  man  who 
has  temporarily  glorified  existence  for  her 
with  this  Hash  of  bright  romance. 

"  I   shall   never   forget    you,  never ! "    she 


58  Allerton  Towers. 

keeps  on  repeating  to  herself,  but,  do  all 
she  can,  she  fails  to  utter  the  words  with 
that  drawing  sweetness  which  had  been  in 
his  tones  wdien  he  uttered  them.  Did  he, 
could  he  mean  them  ?  She  hopes  not ;  iov 
of  course  she  is  engaged  to  Walter,  and  she 
loves  him  dearly,  and  wouldn't  do  anything 
but  marry  him  for  the  world.  Still,  did 
Lord  Marcus  mean  them  ? 

Marcus  is  a  lovely  name,  too,  she  tells 
herself.  His  name,  Marcus  Boyne,  attracts 
her  more  than  his  title,  it's  so  Irish,  and  so 
uncommon,  and  so  exactly  the  gallant-sound- 
ing, fitting  name  for  so  gallant-looking  a 
hero.     How  he  ransj  out  those  words — 

"  With  love  like  u  rose  at  the  stern  of  the  wlierry, 
Tliere's  danger  in  rowing  to  Twickenliani  Town."' 

What  an  old  prude  the  Bishop  was  for  carp- 
ing at  such  a  sweet  love-song.  But  no  !  it 
wasn't  the  Bishop's  fault,  poor  old  man ;  it 
was  Fanny  who  had  prompted  her  father  to 
find  fault;  it  was  Fanny's  jealous}^,  the 
foolish,  spiteful  thing  ;  as  if  he  would  ever 
look  at  her,  even  if  she,  Ethel  Ileatherley, 
didn't  exist. 


Is  She  Jealous?  b\) 


Was  lie  fickle,  as  Irishmen  are,  prover- 
bially? Would  he  forget  her,  as  she  had 
told  him  he  would  in  a  week  ?  How  she 
would  like  to  test  him,  and  find  him  faithful 
and  true  ;  that  is  to  say,  how  she  would  like 
to  do  it  if  Walter  (dear,  good  Walter,  who 
shouldn't  be  snubbed  for  anyone)  didn't  exist ; 
and  Walter  was  coming  in  a  moment,  and 
Lord  Marcus  had  said  he  would  "  never  for- 
get her,  never !  " 

"  She  looks  prettier  this  morning  than  she 
has  ever  looked  in  her  life,  and  somehow 
or  other  she  knoAvs  that  she  does  so,  and 
attributes  this  pleasing  result  rather  to  the 
effect  of  the  new  emotions  which  have  been 
awakened  in  her  by  the  brief  romance  of  last 
night,  than  to  the  deliciously-tinted  pale  pink 
lawn  dress,  with  its  flounces  and  frills  of 
white  lace.  Xew  feelings,  new  emotions,  new 
aspirations,  new  possibilities  have  entered  in 
and  taken  possession  of  and  beautified  her, 
all  through  this  bright  glimpse  she  luis  had 
of  an  ardent's  man's  suddenly-developed  ad- 
miration and  love. 

If  he  could  only  see  her  this  morning  lie 


60  Allerton  Towers. 


would  surely  like  her  better  than  ever.  If 
he  could  only  see  her  !  Not  that  she  wishes 
him  to  come,  or  to  see  her,  or  to  think  about 
her  any  more  ;  but  he  had  said  he  should 
"  never  forget  her,  never ; "  and  after  that, 
what  can  she  do  but  think  of  him  a  little, 
for  a  time  at  least. 

She  is  startled  out  of  her  meditations  on 
this  head  abruptly,  by  a  step  close  to  her 
side,  a  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  a  voice  in 
her  ear,  saying, 

"  Ethel,  darling,  I'm  afraid  I've  kept  you 
waiting,  but  I've  heard  from  my  sister,  offer- 
ing to  come  and  stay  with  me  ;  she  wants 
to  come  at  once,  and  to  bring  a  friend  with 
her,  so  I've  been  about  searching  for  lodgings, 
and  the  time  has  slipped  away  without  my 
knowing  it." 

He  stoops  over  her  as  he  speaks,  as  if 
to  kiss  her,  but  Ethel  stands  a  little  aloof, 
not  angrily,  nor  coldly,  but  just  as  if  a  kiss 
from  him  were  not  in  the  programme  at 
the  moment. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  late.  I  mean, 
you    haven't    kept    me   waiting,"  Ethel    says. 


Is  She  Jealous?  61 

hurriedly,  and  then,  seeing  that  Mr.  Gifford 
looks  hurt  and  surprised,  she  tries  to  throw 
a  little  extra  interest  into  her  next  w(^rds. 

"  I'm  so  glad  your  sister  is  coming,  Walter, 
it  will  be  so  nice  for  you.  But  Avhy  are 
you  getting  lodgings  for  her?  Why  won't 
she  stay  with  you  ?  " 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  she  is  bringing  a  friend 
with  her  ?  " 

"  But  why  can't  the  friend  stay  with  you, 
too?" 

"  The  friend  is  a  young  lady,  and  it 
wouldn't  be  quite  the  thing  for  her  to  stay 
in  a  bachelor's  house." 

""  What  nonsense  !  What  utter  nonsense  ! 
Not  the  proper  thing  to  stay  in  a  bachelor's 
house,  when  the  bachelor's  sister  is  with  him. 
Such  prudery  and  rubbish  !  I've  no  doubt 
she's  an  old  maid  whom  you  wouldn't  look 
at ;  besides  (with  a  gay,  self-satisfied  laugh), 
while  I  am  in  the  way  she  needn't  be  afraid 
of  your  falling  in  love  with  her,  need  she  ? '' 

"  She's  not  an  old  maid,"  he  says,  witli 
slight  embarrassment. 

"Isn't    she?"  Ethel  asks,    quickly.     "You 


62  Allerton  Towers. 

told  me  your  sister  is  twenty-nine  or  thirty, 
so  I  took  it  for  granted  that  her  friend  would 
be  equally  aged.  What  is  her  name  ?  Is  she 
pretty  ?  " 

"  Very,"  he  says,  emphatically. 

"  Oh  ! " 

"Very  pretty,  and  very  clever,  and " 

"  How  pleased  you  must  feel  at  the  pros- 
pect of  welcoming  her,"  Ethel  interrupts,  with 
a  little  air  of  hauteur  that  becomes  her  well, 
and  that  pleases  Walter  Gifford,  because  he 
fancies  it  betokens  jealousy!  Alas!  for  him 
and  his  short-sightedness.  Ethel's  jealousy 
will  never  bring  her  nearer  to  him.  His  first 
instinct  against  the  coming  of  his  sister's 
friend  has  been  a  correct  one.  Her  presence 
will  bring  no  peace  to  him. 

"I  am  not  at  all  pleased,  to  tell  the  truth. 
I  wish  Mabel  had  come  by  herself,  and  then 
she  could  have  stayed  with  me  ;  as  it  is,  Miss 
Somerset  has  spoilt  the  pleasure  of  my  sister's 
visit,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"  Don't  you  like  Miss  Somerset  ?  " 

"  My  not  wishing  her  to  come  has  nothing 
to  do  with  mv  likino-,  or  not  likino-  her.     I'm 


Is  She  Jealous?  G3 

annoyed  because  she  will  take  Mabel  into 
lodgings  instead  of  letting  her  come  to  nie, 
and  she  will  engross  my  sister  entirely." 

"  You  either  hate  or  love  her  very  much, 
Walter,"  Ethel  says,  gravely.  "  I  wonder 
which  it  is  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  is  not  '  love '  that  I  feel  for 
the  lady  who  is  going  to  interfere  with  my 
plans  for  Mabel." 

"  Then  it  has  been  love,  now,  hasn't  it  P 
If  she  is  less  than  a  friend  to  you  now,  it  is 
because  she  has  at  some  period  in  the  past 
been  more  than  a  friend.  Won't  you  trust 
me  and  tell  me,  Walter?  I  shouldn't  be 
the  least  bit  annoyed  or  hurt.  I'm  not 
silly  enough  to  fancy  that  I  am  the  only 
one  you  have  ever  cared  for.  One  can't 
have  one,  and  only  one  love  in  a  life " 

"  I  hoped  that  I  was  your  first  love,  at  any 
rate,  Ethel ;  and  told  myself  that  I  had  won 
you  utterly." 

"  You  shouldn't  tell  yourself  anything 
so  foolish  and  dog  in-the-mangerish.  Why 
should  I  only  have  the  pleasure  of  being 
in    love    once,    any    more    than    the   rest    of 


64  Allerton  Towers. 

my  fellow-creatures?  You've  half  confessed 
already,  at  least,  I've  screwed  it  out  of  you, 
that  you  have  been  in  love  with  this  Miss 
Somerset,  whatever  you  may  be  now.  Why 
should  I  be  different,  and  vow  truly  that 
you're  the  first  and  only  one  my  heart  has 
thought  of   for  a  minute  ?  " 

"  If  I  could  think  you  were  jealous,"  he 
is  beginning,  when  she  laughs  and  stops 
him. 

"  No,  no,  Walter !  I'm  not  jealous,  I'm 
only  glad  to  find  that  I'm  not  so  much,  so 
everything  to  you,  as  I  thought  I  was ;  it 
would  have  frightened  me  to  feel  that  you 
never  had  loved  anybody,  and  never  could 
love  anybody  but  me  ;  now  I  feel  freer,  oh ! 
ever  so  much  freer." 

"  I'm  sorry  that  your  assumption  of  facts, 
that  you  can't  verify,  should  give  you  such 
liberty  of  conscience.  Miss  Somerset  is  no 
more  to  me  than  any  other  person  who  in- 
tervenes between  me  and  unfettered  inter- 
course with  my  sister." 

"  You  got  red  about  her,"  Ethel  says, 
with   a  lively  laugh,  that   seems  to  tell  liim 


Is  She  Jealous?  65 

she  does  not  care  whether  he  is  in  love  with 
Miss  Somerset  or  not. 

"  I  came  to  speak  to  you  about  something 
widely  different,  and  that  is  your  mother's 
unjustifiable  opposition  to  our  engagement, 
after  having  given  her  free  consent  to  it." 

"  Don't  call  anything  my  mother  does  or 
says  'unjustifiable,'  if  you  please." 

"It  is  unjustifiable  to  profess  perfect  satis- 
faction with  a  man  and  his  prospects  one 
day,  and  then,  suddenly,  without  any  change 
having  taken  place  in  either,  to  find  fault 
with  both." 

"  Mother  doesn't  find  fault  with  you,  as  a 
man." 

"  She  does  with  my  position,  and  seems 
to  distrust  my  power  of  improving  it  ;  and 
you  don't  appear  the  least  distressed  at  her 
doing  so.  Why  is  this,  Ethel?  What  has 
happened  to  change  you  from  the  dear, 
loving,  devoted,  staunch  little  girl  you  were 
that  day  you  said  you  would  be  my  wife  ?  " 
"  Please  don't  use  such  words  and  such 
grand  sentiments  about  it,"  Ethel  says,  with 
unaffected    distaste    to   the    subject ;   "  you're 


66  Allerton  Towers. 

making  it  all  big  and  important  by  the  way 
you  speak !  Why  can't  you  let  things  be  ? 
Why  can't  you  drift  on  just  as  we  are,  con- 
tentedly, for  a  little  time  ?  " 

"  Because  I  love  you,  Ethel,  and  can't  see 
you  either  taken  from  me,  or  drifting  from 
me,  without  showing  the  pain  I  feel,"  he 
says,  with  emotion. 

They  have  come  away  from  the  house, 
down  along  the  winding  paths  that  lead 
from  the  pretty,  old-fashioned  garden  to  the 
banks  of  the  river,  as  he  says  this ;  and  now 
they  stand  in  silence  for  a  time,  looking  down 
at  the  water,  as  it  ripples  and  leaps  now 
along  quiet  places,  and  now  over  big  boulders. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  the  Palace 
grounds  spread  their  stately,  sheltered  walks 
and  lawns,  and,  presently  looking  across, 
Ethel  sees,  on  one  of  these  latter.  Miss 
Templeton  sitting  on  a  rustic  bench,  under 
a  deeply-drooping  tree,  looking  down  com- 
placently at  a  manly  form  reclining  on  the 
grass  at  her  feet. 

"  Fanny  and  Mr.  Grove  don't  often  come 
so   far   as   this,"  Ethel   is    saying,  when    the 


Is  She  Jealous?  67 

manly  form  starts  to  its  feet,  with  an  amount 
of  activity  that  does  not  characterise  Mr. 
Grove's  movements  usually,  and  a  strong, 
clear,  young  voice  calls  out, 

"  Hold  hard,  there,  will  you,  Miss  Heather- 
ley,  and  I'll  cross  over  on  some  of  these  big 
stones,"  and  Ethel  recognises  the  form  and 
voice  of  Lord  Marcus  Boyne,  and  cannot 
restrain  an  exclamation  of  glad  delight  as 
she  does  recognise  him. 

This  at  the  first  blush  of  pleasure !  A 
moment  after  she  remembers  that  Lord  Mar- 
cus can  never  be  anything  to  her,  and  that 
her  lover  is  by  her  side  !  Oh  !  the  joy  there 
ought  to  be  in  such  a  reflection !  Oh  !  the 
flat  pain  there  is  in  it  ! 

("That  puppy  here  again  !  ")  she  hears  Mr. 
GifTord  mutter,  and  she  can't  refrain  from 
saying, 

"  He's  manly  and  gentlemanly,  and  bright 
and  beautiful !  Why  do  you  call  him  a 
*  puppy,'  Walter  ?  " 

"  '  Beautiful ! '  What  a  word  to  use  about 
a  man !  One  gets  a  contempt  for  the  man  to 
whom  it's  applied,  even  if  one  hadn't  it  before." 

F  2 


68  Allerton  Towers. 

"Why?"  Ethel  asks,  impetuously,  as  she 
eagerly  watches  Lord  Marcus's  perilous  pas- 
sage across  the  boulders,  over  whicli  the  river 
is  rushing  tumultuously.  "Why?  We  use 
it  about  a  sunset,  and  a  horse,  and  a  moun- 
tain ;  why  not  about  a  man  ?  " 

"  Pshaw  !  " 

"  There's  no  ar^^ument  asfainst  its  use  in 
that,  anyway,"  Ethel  says,  stubbornly.  Then 
she  drops  her  acknowledged  lover's  arm, 
which  has  been  holding  her  tightly  this  while, 
and  goes  of!  to  meet  the  unacknowledged 
one,  as  he  clambers  up  the  bank,  flushed  and 
dripping  from  his  exploit. 

"  A  modern  Leander  !  "  Miss  Templeton 
shouts  from  her  dry  and  deserted  position  on 
the  opposite  lawn ;  but  her  spitefully  sug- 
gestive words  fall  on  Walter  Gifford's  ears 
only,  and  deeply  do  they  aggravate  him. 
The  others  hear  them  not.  Ethel  is  bending 
over  the  bank,  holding  an  enthusiastic  hand 
out  to  Lord  Marcus,  who  is  leaping  up  in 
most  Leander-like  fashion,  quite  oblivious  of 
the  jealous  glances  which  are  being  hurled  at 
them  from  either  side  of  the  bank. 


Is  She  Jealous?  GD 

"  I  have  come  to  tell  you  something,''  Lord 
Marcus  gasps,  as  he  reaches  level  land.  "  T 
know  you  won't  care  to  hear  it,  but,  still,  I 
can't  help  wanting  to  tell  you,  and  to  hear 
you  say  you're  sorry  for  me.  Kenmare — 
he's  my  brother,  you  know  ? — is  aAvfully  ill, 
and  I'm  going  home  at  once  to  see  him ;  but 
I  wouldn't  go  without  saying  good-bj'e  to 
you." 

He  is  holding  her  hand,  and  looking  into 
her  face  with  his  wonderful,  glistening,  aqua- 
marine eyes,  and  she  is  tenderly  touched,  as  it 
behoves  a  woman  to  be  who  hears  of  the 
sudden  illness,  which  may  possibly  have  a 
fatal  termination,  of  one  who  is  dear  to  one 
whom  she  loves. 

"  Perhaps  your  brother  Avill  get  better," 
she  blurts  out,  prosaically  ;  "  but,  if  you 
wanted  to  say  good-bye  to  me,  why  Avere  you 
lying  on  the  lawn  at  Miss  Templeton's 
feet  ?  " 

"  Because  I  had  to  take  a  message  Irom 
Townley  to  the  Bishop  ;  and  when  I  said  I 
was  coming  on  l:ere  to  the  cottage,  she  tcld 
me    she    expected    you    there    this    morning, 


70  Allerton   Towers. 


and  said  I  should  miss  you  if  I  didn't 
wait.  Would  you  have  been  sorry  ?  Would 
you  have  cared  a  bit,  Ethel  ?  " 

"  Ethel,"  Mr.  Gifford  shouts  from  a  height 
a  few  yards  above  her,  looking  down 
with  threatening  eyes  upon  the  fascinating, 
frivolous  pair.  "  Ethel,  I  must  go  in  five 
minutes,  and  I  have  many  things  to  say  to 
you." 

"  Why  the  deuce  doesn't  he  say  them  and 
have  done  with  it,"  young  Marcus  Boyne 
mutters  to  himself,  discontentedly.  He  is 
mad  with  fate,  love,  everything  this  morning ! 
and  Ethel's  eyes  are  distracting  him.  Why 
are  the  "  sweetest  eyes  that  were  ever  seen  " 
predestined  to  light  the  path  of  another 
man?  Why  may  he  not  dare  to  ask  her  to 
definitely  break  all  previous  bonds,  and  share 
his  fortunes  with    his    heart    to-day? 

No,  he  cannot.  There  is  that  man  on  the 
little  winding  path  above  them  proclaiming 
his  rights  in  the  cold,  cavilling,  displeased 
tone  in  which  he   says — 

"  Ethel,  I   must  go   in   five  minutes." 

Wearily,  Ethel  begins  to  ascend  the  winding 


Is  She   Jealous?  71 


path.  What  is  she  to  say  to  Walter  Gifford 
when  she  rejoins  him  ?  Nothing  ;  absolutely 
nothing !  She  cannot  tliank  him  for  waiting 
for  her,  for  she  has  not  wanted  him  to  wait ! 
She  cannot  profess  to  think  that  he  will  be 
glad  to  see  Lord  Marcus  Boyne,  because  she 
knows  that  the  young  man's  name  is  <-is  the 
root  of  bitterness  to  him !  And  if  she  does 
not  do  either  of  these  things,  Walter  may  be 
righteously   annoyed. 

"  Why,  oh  why,  has  any  one  but  mother 
the  right  to  control  me  or  find  fault  with 
me  ?  "  she  says  to  herself,  as  she  plods  up  the 
path.  Lord  Marcus  affectionately  at  her  heels. 
Then  she  meets  Walter  Gifford,  and  must  say 
something. 

"  You  don't  know  one  another,  I  find  ? 
Mr.  Gifford,  let  me  introduce  you  to  Lord 
Marcus  Bovne ;  now  come  in  and  see 
mother,"  she  adds,  witli  an  air  of  relief,  turn- 
ing towards  Lord  Marcus. 

"  And  you  stay  here  with  me,"  Walter 
Gifford  puts  in,  decisively. 

She  looks  from  one  to  the  other  for  a 
moment,  and  then  makes  up  her  mind  tliat 


72  Allerton  Towers. 

she  cannot  even  seem  to  slight  the  man  who 
is  in  sorrow  about  his  brother. 

"  Lord  Marcus's  will  be  rather  a  sad  good- 
bye, Walter,"  she  says,  gently ;  "  you  are 
going  to  see  your  sister  and  her  friend,  who 
are  both  full  of  spirits  and  life  ;  he  is  going 
to  his  dying  brother.  I  think  I  must  stay 
with  him  and  mother." 

Walter  GifTord  stands  back  and  folds  his 
arms  over  his  chest.  In  that  moment  he 
comes  to  a  definite  conclusion  concerning 
the  part  he  will  play  in  this  drama.  Ethel 
shall  go  her  own  way  for  a  year.  At  the 
end  of  that  year  he  will  either  have  the 
power  to  control  her,  or  the  will  to  resist 
her  !  What  matter  which  ?  She  shall  go 
her  own  way  now. 

"  It  must  be  as  you  please,"  he  says,  inclin- 
ing his  head,  and  Ethel  lifts  her  bonnie, 
blooming  face  towards  him  and  answers — 

"My  pleasure  is  that  you  go  and  enjoy 
yourself  with  your  sister  and  Miss  Somerset, 
for  a  time,  and  leave  me  to  mother !  Now, 
you  can't  say  Tm  nasty,  and  exacting,  and 
jealous." 


Is  She  Jealous?  73 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  you  were,"  he  says, 
piteously,  but  she  is  not  listening  to  him. 
She  is  already  running  up  the  winding  path, 
with  Lord  Marcus  by   her    side. 

The  young  Irishman  has  all  his  woman- 
worshipping  wits  about  him,  for  all  the  real 
trouble  he  is  in  about   his  brother. 

"  I  knew  it  was  on  the  cards  that  you 
couldn't  or  wouldn't  see  me  if  I  came,"  he 
says,  with  that  bewitching  humility  which 
more  than  other  form  of  pride  compels  a 
woman  to  surrender  ;  "  but  still,  I  thought 
I'd  come  and  ask  for  your  sympathy,  th(High 
you  can't  give    me   your " 

"Oh!  don't,  don't."  They  are  in  the 
clematis-covered  entrance-porch  to  the  cottage 
now — a  little  place — the  interior  of  which  is 
a  mass  of  tea-roses,  stephanotis,  gardenia,  and 
giant  mignonette.'  It  is  all  so  sweet  that  for 
a  few  moments  poor  Ethel  feels  sweetly 
astray.     Then  she    recovers    herself. 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Gifibrd  had  come  with  us," 
she   says,    rather    mournfully. 

"If  he  had  I  shouldn't  be  here  now," 
Lord  Marcus  cries.     Then  he  goes    down   on 


74  Allerton  Towers. 

one  knee  before  her,  and  she  can  but  hear 
what  he   has    to    say. 

"  Ethel,  I  love  you,  I  love  you  ;  whatever 
comes,  I  shall  come  back  and  tell  you  so  ; 
Ethel,  you  are  my  star !  Guide  me  back  to 
you  soon ;  forgive  me  for  saying  this  now 
when  he's  here,  and  I  oughtn't  to  say  it,  but 
I'm  unhappy  about  my  brother,  and  I  want 
someone  to  love  me.  I  mean  I  want  to  tell 
someone  all  about  myself  and  what's  before  me." 

Ethel  is  leaning  back  ao-ainst  a  shelf,  her 
hands  behind  her,  tightly  clasping  it,  and  he 
is  standing  before  her,  grief-stricken,  be- 
wilderingly  handsome,  and  utterly  oblivious 
of  the  fact  that  the  man  she  is  pledged  to 
marry  is  standing  a  few  yards  away  from 
them,   anathematising   him. 

In  response  to  his  ardent  appeal,  Ethel, 
with  the  instinct  for  self-preservation  which 
is  inherent  in  her  sex,  says  nothing  ;  but 
moves  discreetly  towards  the  inner  hall, 
cooing  out  as  she  moves, 

"  Mother !  mother  !  we  want  you  !  Are 
you  not  down  yei,  darling  ?  "  and  presently 
Mrs.    Heatherley    appears,    all    India    muslin 


/.s'  She  Jealous?  75 


and  surah,  and  soft  laces,  looking  lier  fresh- 
est, sweetest,  airiest  morning  self  in  fact,  and, 
as  with  a  quick  glance  she  takes  in  the 
whole  situation  (for  Walter  Gilford  is  loom- 
ing gloomily  in  the  background),  Ethel 
feels   that    the    onus  is  off  her  ! 

"  Mother  will  manage  them  both,'"  she 
says  to  herself,  with  a  sensation  of  relief, 
for  it  has  not  come  to  the  pass  yet,  with 
her,  that  she  desires  to  manage  either  of 
them    apart    from    "  mother." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  Mrs.  Heatherley  says, 
quiveringly,  presently,  when  she  has  heard 
the  reason  why  he  has  been  recalled  home, 
"  my  heart  bids  me  go  and  help  to  nurse 
your  brother ;  but  my  motives  might  be 
misconstrued  if  I  volunteered  for  the  service ! 
What   say    you?    Shall    I   go?" 

For  a  moment  Lord  Marcus  thinks  of  his 
motherless,  dying  brother,  away  in  the 
imposing  but  exceedingly  ill-regulated  Irish 
castle,  and  is  half  inclined  to  accept  the 
Quixotic  offer.  The  next  he  looks  at 
Ethel's  face,  and  reads  her  look  of  pained, 
scornful    disapj)roval    aright. 


76  Allerton  Toicers. 

"  I  daren't  ask  you,  though  I'd  give  all 
I  have,  or  may  have,  in  the  world  to  get 
you  and  Ethel  there,"  he  says,  with  un- 
wonted trembling  and  hesitation  in  his 
voice  and  manner.  And  Mrs.  Heatherley 
looks  at  him  with  tears  of  maternal  under- 
standing in  her  eyes,  and  Ethel  turns  away 
hastily,  and  gets  out  to  look  for  Walter 
Gifford. 

He  is  just  about  to  depart  when  she 
comes,  and  it  is  in  his  heart  to  punish  her 
for  having  been  so  long. 

"I  had  a  hundred  things  to  say  to  you, 
Ethel ;  but  you  have  been  so  much  taken 
up  with  Lord  Marcus,  that  I  must  put 
them  off  till  the   evening." 

"  Or  till  another  day — say  till  you've 
found  lodgings  for  your  sister  and  Miss 
Somerset,"  she  says,  calmly. 

"  Ethel !  don't  send  me  off  like  this  !  and 
don't  be   dazzled   by  that    boy." 

"That  '  boy,'  as  you  call  him,  is  not  in  the 
*  dazzling  '  line  of  business,  at  present.  He's 
in  grief,  real  grief,  about  his  brother 
Kenmare.' 


Is  She  Jealous  ?  77 

"  If  Kenmare  dies,  he  will  be  the  Marquis. 
His  grief  is  as  real  as  all  else  about  him," 
Walter  GifFord  storms  out ;  and  Ethel  can 
only  say, 

"  Walter  !    how  can  you  say  it  ?  " 


t 


CHAPTEE    V. 

entp:r  lily,     exit  ethel. 

pORE  than  a  week  has  elapsed,  Mr 
'^  GifFord  has  found  the  most  com- 
fortable and  picturesque  lodgings 
for  his  sister  and  her  friend  that  the  heart 
of  woman  can  desire,  or  the  most  exacting  and 
fastidious  nature  of  man  can  desire  for  her. 

Three  lavender-scented  rooms  in  a  sweet 
farm-house,  called  "  The  Uplands,"  are  placed 
at  their  service  by  one  of  the  bonniest- 
faced  housewives  in   the  West  counties. 

Three  old,  raftered  rooms,  low  and  roomy, 
with  quaint  corner  cupboards  full  of  china, 
and  long,  queerly  carved  settles,  along  the 
walls.  Eooms  that  are  full  of  the  sweetness 
and  light  of  the  country,  and,  it  may  be  told 
here,  rooms  into  which  Lily  Somerset  would 
rather  die  than  enter,  if  she  too  had  not  an 
end  to  gain. 

For  she  is  one  of   the  world's   spoilt    dar- 


Enter  Lily.     Eait  Ethel.  79 

lings,  and  for  her  "  to  rough  it "  in  ever  so 
shght  a  degree,  is  an  extraordinary  thing. 
It  is  the  mornincf  after  their  arrival  at  the 

o 

Uplands — the  farm-house  that  lies  on  the 
breezy  borders  of  Allerton  Towers — and  the 
two  ladies  are  sitting  at  their  rather  late 
breakfast,  in  the  old  oak-panelled,  low-raftered 
sitting  room  which  has  been  placed  at  their 
service. 

Anything  more  incongruous  than  these  two 
friends  are  in  appearance,  manners,  motives, 
habits,  and  aspirations,  cannot  well  be  ima- 
gined. Mabel  Gifford  is  a  tall,  stout,  good- 
humoured,  commonplace-looking  woman  of 
thirty,  full  of  thriftiness,  and  excellent  house- 
hold ways,  blessed  with  an  eagle's  eye  for  the 
main  chance.  Not  a  mean  woman!  Far  be 
it  from  the  chronicler  of  this  portion  of  her 
blameless,  uneventful  career,  to  su^sest  that 
Mabel  GifFord  is  endowed,  in  ever  so  slight  a 
degree,  with  the  quality  of  meanness.  But 
essentially  a  thrifty,  careful,  saving  Avoman, 
who,  abhorring  every  form  of  luxury  and 
extravagance  for  herself,  is  rather  apt  to  be 
intolerant  of  it  in  others. 


80  Allerton  Towers. 

Yet,  see  her  now,  the  chosen  friend  and 
companion  of  Lily  Somerset,  a  girl  of  four- 
and- twenty,  whose  fortunes  are  as  fair  as  her 
most  lovely  face — a  girl  who  has  never  known 
what  it  is  to "  deny  herself  anything  that 
money  can  purchase,  or  which  she  has  set  her 
heart  upon  having — a  girl  to  whom  fine  rai- 
ment is  absolutely  one  of  the  chief  necessaries 
of  life,  who  invariably  averts  her  eyes  from 
the  seamy  side  of  everything,  and  who  feels 
it  rather  hard  that  some  one  cannot  bribe  the 
sun  to  perpetually  shine  upon  her — a  self- 
indulgent,  wilful,  capricious,  extravagant, 
exacting,  ungrateful  young  lady,  yet  one  for 
whom  Mabel  Gifford  is  willing  to  sacrifice  her 
time,  principles,  occupations,  sharply-defined 
rules   of  life,  and   personal  independence. 

She  does  not  puzzle  her  head  much  by 
trying  to  define  the  reason  why  she  has  gone 
into  this  bondage  to  one  who,  she  feels  dimly, 
will  cast  her  off  and  do  without  her  very 
buoyantly  as  soon  as  she  no  longer  needs  her. 
It  is  enough  for  Miss  Gifford,  who  has  no 
charms,  no  caprices,  and  but  a  very  narrow 
fortune  of  her  own,  to  shine  in  the  reflected 


Enter  Lily.     Ed-it  Ethel.  81 

light  of  this  glittering  fairy  queen,  wlio  is  as 
fair,  slender,  graceful,  and  sweet  to  look  upon 
as  the  lily  whose  name  she  bears. 

Miss  Somerset  is  lying  back  in  the  most  com- 
fortable chair  in  the  room,  her  long  morning 
gown  of  cream  Madras  musUn  and  lace  float- 
ing away  in  soft  folds  around  her  fragile  figure. 
Her  beautifully  shod  diminutive  feet  are  stuck 
up  on  a  chair  in  front  of  her.  A  cup  of  choco- 
late is  frothing  on  the  table  by  her  side,  and 
Miss  Gilford  is  just  engaged  in  the  critical  task 
of  selecting;  the  daintiest  bit  of  sweetbread  in 
the  dish,  wherewith  to  tempt  her  (Lily's)  fitful 
appetite. 

"  Put  your  hat  on,  Mabel,  and  go  at  once," 
Miss  Somerset  is  saying,  after  there  has. been 
a  short  pause  in  the   conversation. 

"  Yes,  dear.  Go  where  ?  "  Miss  Gilford  re- 
plies,  acquiescently,   but  vaguely. 

"To  your  brother,  of  course.  Oh,  I  forgot 
you  didn't  know  what  I  have  been  thinking 
about.  I  have  just  made  up  my  mind  that  I 
won't  touch  a  thing,  not  a  single  thing,  for 
breakfast,  until  I  know  what  Mr.  Gilford  means 
by  treating  me  in  this  exceedingly  rude  manner." 

VOL.  I.  o 


82  Allerton  Towers. 

"  Rude,  my  dear !  Walter  rude  to  you ! 
He  couldn't  be." 

"It's  bearish  of  him  not  to  have  come  to 
inquire  for  me  this  morning,  after  that  hideous 
journey  yesterday;  and  I  will  not  be  treated 
with  churlish  discourtesy  by  any  man,  least  of 
all  by  Walter  Gifford.  He  inust  come,  and 
make  something  like  an  apology  to  me,  before 
I  touch  anything  this  morning ;  and  if  I  go 
without  my  chocolate,  I'm  always  ill,  as  you 
know ;  so  go  at  once,  please." 

Mabel  Gifford  rises  promptly,  and  puts  on 
her  hat ;  but  she  sighs  as  she  does  it,  for  she 
knows  that  her  task  is  a  hopeless  one,  and 
that  when  slie  comes  back  with  it  unfulfilled, 
her  loved  tyrant  will  make  her  suffer  for  her 
inability  to  perform  it. 

"  You  must  remember  that  Walter's  time 
is  not  his  own,"  she  says,  feebly. 

"  Then  pray  who's  is  it  ? "  Lily  retorts, 
imperiously. 

"  Well,  a  doctor,  you  know,  must  consider 
his  patients  before  even  his  friends,"  Miss 
Gifford  says,  humbly. 

"  I  will  not  have  his  patients  considered 


Enter  Lily.     Exit  Ethel.  83 

before  me,  and  he  would  never  be  fool  enough 
to  tell  me  that  he  does  so,"  Lily  says,  with 
smiling  derision.  "  You  are  blundering,  as 
usual,  you  good,  awkward  old  Mab,  in  your 
efforts  to  defend  your  brother  ;  you  had  much 
better  simply  do  as  I  tell  you — go  and  tell 
him  he  must  come  at  once.  Leave  the  work 
of  explanation  to  him." 

It  is  in  Miss  Gifford's  mind  to  say,  "  Time 
was  when  Walter  would  have  left  every 
patient  in  the  world  for  your  sake,  and  then 
you  drove  him  from  you."  But  she  does  not 
say  it,  for  it  is  the  fondest  desire  of  her  heart 
that  these  two  shall  come  together  again,  and 
she  humbly  acknowledges  that  she  is  not 
gifted  with  the  grace  of  uttering  those  season- 
able words  which  may  bring  this  desirable 
end  about. 

The  young  surgeon's  house  is  in  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  quarters  of  the  old  city,  but 
the  distance  between  it  and  the  Uplands  farm- 
house, where  the  two  ladies  are  lodging,  is  as 
wide  as  Walter  has  been  able  to  make  it. 
His  sister's  feet  grow  tired,  and  her  soul  grows 
sad  as  she  walks  it  rapidly  this  morning,  for 

G  2 


84  Allerton  Towers. 

she  detects  a  meaning  in  his  having  placed 
them  so  far  away. 

"  He  doesn't  want  to  be  in  the  way  of 
seeing  her  often,  I'm  afraid,"  Mabel  solilo- 
quises, shaking  her  head.  "  And  I  really  do 
believe,  now,  that  she's  got  to  be  fond  of  him, 
and  finds  she  can't  do  without  him  ;  what  a 
thiuCT  it  would  be  for  dear  Walter.  Five 
thousand  a  year,  and  no  one  to  interfere  with 
the  way  she  spends  it !  There'd  be  an  end  of 
all  the  working  and  scraping  and  toiling,  and 
being  beaten  back  by  richer  men,  who  can 
afford  to  make  more  flourish  about  what  they 
do,  if  Walter  will  only  love  and  trust  her  again." 

.Walter  is  just  coming  out  of  his  surgery 
door,  into  the  yard,  where  his  stanhope  is 
waiting  for  him.  The  stanhope  "  looks  pros- 
perous," Mabel  thinks,  for  it  is  well  built  and 
well  kept,  and  the  big,  powerfully  modelled 
bay  horse  that  stands  between  the  shafts  has 
a  satisfactory  air  of  sleekness  about  him,  that 
reassures  his  owner's  sister.  Still !  "  It  is 
hard  work,  grinding  work,  for  poor  Walter  to 
keep  things  up  to  the  mark,  I  know,"  his  sis- 
ter thinks,  pityingly,  as  she  steps  across  the 


Enter  Lily.     Exit  Ethel.  85 

yard  towards  liiin.  Then  in  a  moment  it 
flashes  across  her,  that  he  may  be  Lily 
Somerset's  husband,  and  the  master  of  five 
thousand  a  year,  if  he  pleases,  and  her  pity 
resolves  itself  into  a  sensible,  practical,  earnest 
desire  and  intention,  to  see  that  he  uses  this 
opportunity  aright. 

"You  moving  at  this  hour,  after  your  jour- 
ney, Mabel,"  he  says,  addressing  her  in  cheer- 
ful accents,  though  he  has  no  cheerfulness  in 
his  heart,  for  he  has  not  seen  Ethel  since  that 
day  when  he  left  her  pouring  out  pity,  that 
seemed  to  him  misapplied,  for  Lord  Marcus 
Boyne,  about  his  brother  Lord  Kenmare. 
How,  therefore,  should  cheerfulness  and  him- 
self be  "  on  terms  "  just  now  ? 

"  Yes,  Walter,  and  I'm  here  without  having 
had  any  breakfast,  let  me  tell  you,"  Mabel 
says,  querulously,  and  then,  as  she  sees  that  he 
is  about  to  step  into  his  stanhope,  she  makes 
a  sudden  step  forward,  lays  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  arrests  his  further  progress. 

"  You  must  come  back  with  me,  Walter. 
Lily  is — is  hurt  tliat  you  haven't  been  over 
already;    you'll  come  back  with   me  now?" 


86  Allerton  Tov-ers. 

Walter  Giffdrd  slowly  takes  out  a  note- 
book of  imposing  proportions,  and  reads  a 
list  of  cases  and  the  hours  which  he  is  bound 
to  give  to  them. 

"  You  see,  Mabel,  I  have  no  time  to  give 
to  you  this  morning,"  he  says,  as  he  closes 
the  note-book. 

"  Not  to  me,  but  to  hei\"  his  sister  pleads 
with  unconscious  pathos. 

"  Nonsense,  dear  old  girl."  He  speaks 
with  affected  unconcern  and  indifference,  but 
within  he  is  terribly  moved.  Why  cannot 
this  Syren  cease  to  lure  him  now,  when  he 
is  so  nearly  safely  anchored  in  a  far  more 
holy  love  ?  Why  cannot  she  cease  to  strive 
to  distract  him  ?  Why— cannot  she  cease  to 
be   herself,  in  fact? 

"  Nonsense,  dear  old  girl ;  my  time  is  not 
my  own.  Present  my  compliments  to  Miss 
Somerset,  and  tell  her  that  if  she  gets  bilious 
or  neuralgic  down  here,  I  will  come  to  her  at 
once,  in  pursuit  of  my  calling ;  but  while  she 
is  well  and  happy,  she  does  not  need  me,  and 
other  people  do." 

He  steps  up  into  his  stanhope  as  he  speaks, 


Enter  Lily.     Exit  EtJiel.  S7 

and  his  sister  imj^erils  all  lier  limbs  in  striving 
to  follow  him. 

"  But,  Walter  !  do  listen  !  " 

Brightly  he  leans  forward,  holding  the 
reins,  and  looking  horribly  ready  to  drive 
over  her,  she  thinks. 

"I  am   listening." 

"  Think,  Walter ;  think  of  what  I  shall 
have  to  endure  when  I  go  back  without  you ! 
Lily  is  nervous  this  morning ;  take  her  as  one 
of  the  patients  whom  you  will  not  neglect." 

As  his  sister  says  this,  Mr.  Gifford  thinks  of 
Ethel,  the  girl  he  loves  and  longs  to  marr}^ ; 
of  Ethel,  the  girl  who  seems  so  heartily  disin- 
clined to  marry  him  just  at  present  Then 
across  the  thought  of  her,  comes  another 
thought — a  thought,  lightning-like,  of  Lily, 
who  is  all  flush  and  glow,  and  passionate 
resolve ! 

"  With  all  my  heart,  I  wish  Miss  Somerset 
had  selected  another  spot  to  recover  her 
faded  health  in,  and  another  medical  adviser 
than  myself ;  understand  me,  Mabel !  I  will 
not  help  Lily  out  in  another  sham !  tell  her 
so  from  me." 


88  Allerton  Towers. 

"  If  I  dared  to  do  it,  she  would  be  sitting 
in  your  surgery  when  you  came  home  to- 
day. Walter,  be  sensible,  be  led  by  Lily 
and  me." 

"  Led  !  to  what  ?  " 

"  To  be  Avhat  you  wanted  to  be  once  to 
her.  Oh,  Walter,  do  listen,  think  of  her 
beauty,  and  sweetness,  and  money  ;  think  !  " 

"  Of  their  all  beino-  the  devil's  snares 
for  me,  and  of  how  I  won't  be  snared,"" 
he  said,  coldly ;  "  go  back  to  your  friend, 
Mabel,  and  tell  her  that  T  know  now  what 
self-preservation  means  ;  I  sliall  not  leave 
my  duty  at  lier  bidding." 

"And  she  won't  touch  a  bit  of  breakfast  till 
she  sees  you,"  Mabel  pleads,  as  she  sees  the 
chances  of  her  mission  ending  successfully 
fading  away. 

"  Then  I  fear  she  will  not  breakfast  to-day,"' 
he  laughs,  "  for  when  I  come  back  from  my 
rounds,  I  am  due  at  Mrs.  Heatherley's." 

*'Who  is  Mrs.  Heatherley?" 

"  She  is  Ethel's  mother,  and  Ethel  is  the 
girl  I  hope  to  make  my  wife." 

"Walter!" 


Enter  Lily.     Exit  Ethel.  89 

"  Why  this  announcement  ?  " 
"  I  have  never  even  heard  of  her." 
"  No ;  I  have  kept  my  heart's  darling  very 
close,"  he  says,  meditatively. 

"  Are  5^ou  teasing  and  trying  me  ?  I  hope 
you  are,  Walter,  for  rather  than  go  back  and 
repeat  what  you  have  just  said,  as  a  truth, 
to  Lily,  I  would — I  don't  know  where  I 
wouldn't  go." 

"  Come  up  and  have  a  quiet  talk  with 
me  this  evening,  Mabel,"  he  answers,  for 
his  sister's  manner  and  appearance  is  too 
flustered  and  heart-rending  altogether  for 
him  to  hold  further  converse  with  her 
now.  A  strong,  brawny  woman  dissolved  in 
tears  is  a  sight  to  make  even  strong  men 
shudder  and  depart  from  it ;  they  themselves 
being  the  cause  of  the  unseemly  emotion 
being  the  more  cogent  reason  why  they  are 
intolerant  of  it. 

"  If  this  is  what  I  have  come  to  AUerton 
Towers  for,  I  could  almost  wish  I  had  stayed 
at  home,  though  for  months  it  has  been  the 
dearest  wish  of  my  heart  to  see  you,  Walter," 
Miss  Gifford  says,  half  to  her  brother  and  lialf 


90  Allerton  Towers. 

to  herself,  as  he  drives  away,  and  leaves  her 
ill  the  full  morning  light,  clearly  outlined  and 
very  warm,  in  his  stable  yard. 

Presently,  stepping  daintily  and  tenderly 
across  the  paving  stones,  there  comes  a  deli- 
cate little  lady,  vaporously  dressed  in  raiment 
of  the  most  gossamer-like  grey.  Intuitively, 
Miss  Gifford  feels  that  this  is  an  antagonist, 
and  when  with  a  pardoning  smile  the  trans- 
parent intruder  addresses  her,  the  substantial 
sister  feels  that  Walter's  path  may  be  beset 
with  other  snares  than  his  own  untoward  will. 

'^ lias  Mr.  Gilford  gone?  Ah!  how  un- 
fortunate  I  am,  to  be  so  late,"  the  pretty  little 
lady  in  grey  exclaims,  disconsolately,  and  a 
conviction  starts  through  Mabel's  mind,  that 
this  can  be  no  other  than  the  Mrs.  Heatherley 
to  whom  Walter  has  declared  he  is  due  as 
soon  as  he  has  finished  his  rounds. 

"  My  brother  is  gone  for  several  hours,  I 
believe,"  Miss  Gifford  says,  frigidly,  and 
Mrs.  Heatherley,  with  eyes  wide  open  with 
perplexity  and  friendly  feeling,  murmurs  : 

"Your  brother;  is  it  possible?  I  am 
delighted     to     meet     such    a    sister    of   Mr. 


Enter  Lily.     Exit  Ethel.  91 

GifFord's,  for  I  take  a  deep  interest  in  him, 
and  have  so  often  wished  that  he  had  a 
wise   sister  near  him." 

"  I  am  the  only  sister  he  has,  and  I  am 
near  enough  to  him  now,"  Mabel  says, 
fluently.  "  As  to  my  wiseness !  we  won't 
say  about  that  at  present — as  3'ou  are  such 
a  friend  of  Walter's,  I  may  venture  to  ask 
your  name." 

"Oh!  I  am  Mrs.  Heatherley,"  the  fair  little 
widow  says,  with  the  prettiest  air  of  surprise 
imaginable.  That  anyone  should  be  ignorant 
of  her  name  and  status,  is  not  at  all  in  order 
at  AUerton  Towers. 

"  Ethel's  mother !  "  Miss  Giffbrd  cries,  sur- 
prised out  of  prudence,  and  Mrs.  Heatherley 
nods  her  head  assentingiy,  and  says : 

"  Yes,  Ethel  is  tlie  name  of  my  child,  and 
now  you  have  come,  I  almost  regret  that  I 
have  just  made  arrano-ements  for  takino-  her 
away  for  a  time ;  she  is  so  young,  and  as  it 
is  so  terribly  dull  here,  at  last  I  have  yielded 
to  her  unspoken  plea  for  a  change ;  we  leave 
Allerton  Towers  just  as  you  come  to  it,  Miss 
Gifford;  can  anything  be  more  unfortunate?'' 


92  Allerton  Toifers. 

Mrs.  Heatherley  does  not  even  assume  the 
shallow  appearance  of  being  sorry  for  the 
combination  of  circumstances  which  she  is 
verbally  regretting,  and  Mabel  Giilbrd  feels 
her  face  flushing  with  mortification.  That 
Ethel's  mother  is  no  more  anxious  for  the 
engagement  to  last  and  the  marriage  even- 
tually to  come  off',  than  she  herself,  Walter's 
sister,  is,  is  evident  to  her,  and  it  angers  her 
that  it  should  be  so.  She  can  justify  herself 
for  undervaluing  and  lightly  regarding  the 
unknown  Ethel.  But  that  Mrs.  Heatherley 
should  presume  to  undervalue  Walter,  whom 
she  knows,  goads  Walter's  sister  into  the 
utterance  of  words  of  indiscretion. 

"I  have  just  heard  something  from  my 
brother  that  makes  me  feel  rather  surprised 
at  your  daughter's  desire  to  go  away  from 
Allerton  Towers,"  Mabel  says,  stiffl}^ ;  and 
Mrs,  Heatherley  aggravates  the  already 
aggravated  sister  still  further  by  taking 
no    notice    of   her   remark. 

"  When  did  you  say  you  expected  your 
brother  home  ?  I  am  most  anxious  to  see 
him  before  I  go,  in  order  tliat  he  may  pre- 


Enter  Lily.     Edit  Ethel. 


scribe  for  my  neuralgia.  You  would  hardly 
believe  it,  Miss  Gilford,  but  I  am  a  martyr  to 
my  nerves " 

"  My  brother  will  be  home  in  the  course  of 
two  or  three  hours,"  Mabel  interrupts.  "Are 
you  leaving  so  suddenly  that  you  won't  wait 
to  see  him  ?  " 

"  The  train  will  not  wait  for  us,  my 
dear  Miss  Gilford,"  the  little  widow  says, 
graciously ;  "  we  leave  in  an  hour,  I  regret 
to  say,  as  I,  should  much  like  to  have  seen 
Mr.  Gilford,  so  kind  and  nice  as  I  have  always 
found  him  ;  but  the  train,  like  the  tide,  waits 
for  no  man,  you  know,  and  the  hour  is  fixed 
for  us  to  join  our  friends  the  St.  Justs,  at  the 
station ;  delightful  people.  Lord  and  Lady 
St.  Just ;  I  wish  your  brother  knew  more 
of  tliem.  We  have  arranged  a  little  tour 
together.  My  Ethel  is  enthusiastic  about 
scenery.  If  we  had  been  staying  here,  I 
should  have  begged  you  to  be  kind  enough 
to  come  to  the  cottage  and  look  at  some  of 
her  sketches !  as  it  is,  unfortunately,  all  I  can 
say  is,  good-bye,  dear  Miss  Gilford,  and  I 
trust  we  may  meet  again." 


94  Allerton  Towers. 

Bewildered  and  annoyed  as  she  is,  still 
Mabel  has  no  definite  ground  of  offence 
against  Mrs.  Heatherley,  and  cannot,  there- 
fore, refuse  to  take  the  graciously  proffered 
little  hand  which  that  lady  extends. 

"  But  it  seemed  to  sting  me,  Walter,"  she 
says,  by-and-bye,  when  she  is  reporting  the 
interview  to  her  astonished  and  acforrieved 
brother,  who  has  not  seen  Ethel  for  a  week ! 

"  Ethel,  gone  !  without  a  word  to  me  !  Im- 
possible ! "  he  says,  sternly.  Biit  when  he 
goes  up  to  the  cottage  to  have  the  "mistake," 
as  he  believes  it  to  be,  triumphantly  rectified, 
he  finds  the  place  deserted  and  its  occupants 
flown. 

The  servants  are  "  left  in  charge,  on  board- 
wages,  for  six  weeks  at  least,"  they  tell  him  ; 
but  they  cannot  give  him  any  address,  as 
missus  said  '•  there  Avas  no  need  to  forward 
letters;  everything  would  keep  till  she  came 
home." 

He  has  a  sharp  tussle  with  his  pride  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  then  he  asks : 

•'Is  there  no  note,  no  message  for  me, 
from  Miss  Heatherley  ?  " 


Filter  Lily.     Exit  Ethel.  \)'y 

"Not  a  line,  nor  a  word,  sir,"  they  tell 
him,  cheerfully  ;  and  his  heart  is  atiame  with 
wrath  and  fear.  Instinctively  he  feels  that 
Mrs.  Heatherley  is  going  to  try  the  well- 
known  power  absence  has  of  making  the 
heart  grow  fonder  of — somebody  else  ;  and 
his  jealous  fancy  vainly  strives  to  paint  the 
lucky  man  who  will  be  fiendishly  invited  to 
join  the  party  by  that  atrocious  old  match- 
maker. Lady  St.  Just. 

"  And,  unless  Ethel  writes  to  me,  I  can't 
send  her  a  line,  praying  her  to  be  staunch," 
he  tells  himself,  miserably  ;  "  her  mother  has- 
planned  it  Avell !  I  can't  combat  that  false 
little  fairy,  who  looks  as  innocent  as  a  hare- 
bell. She  has  planned  it  well!  And  she  will 
teach  Ethel  to  think  me  careless  and  in- 
indifferent." 

There  is  no  professional  call  on  his  time 
this  evening,  and  in  his  desolate,  miserable 
dulness  he  is  more  than  half  inclined  to  go 
to  the  Uplands,  where  two  women  are  wait- 
ing to  welcome  him  with  warm  gladness,  in 
sharp  contrast  to  the  two  who  have  gone  away 
from   him  with  callous  indifference.     But  he 


96  Allerton  Towers. 

subdues  the  half  indmation,  teUing  himself 
that  he  will  be  a  true  knight  to  Ethel,  how- 
ever  sorely  she  may   try  him. 

It  is  disappointing  after  this  to  find  his 
sister  and  Miss  Somerset  waiting  for  him 
under  the  verandah,  outside  his  drawing- 
room    window. 


i^m'^ 


CHAPTEE  VI. 


A  FATHER  S  PEAYER  AND  PLAN. 


ITHEL  HEATHERLEY  mu3t   be    freed 


K;$^ 


Nl^^iis  from  the  odium  of  being  suspected 
of  being  either  heartless  or  sly  witli 
as  little  delay  as  possible.  The  temptation  of 
being  taken  into  the  heart  of  beautiful 
scenery  has  been  put  before  her  suddenly 
and  adroitly  by  old  Lady  St.  Just,  who  likes 
interfering  with  a  love-affair  for  love  of  inter- 
ference ;  and  who,  additionally,  really  thinks 
"  that  pretty  Ethel  Heatherley  ought  to  marry 
someone  better  than  a  country  surgeon." 
Having  once  committed  herself  to  the  public 
statement  of  this  opinion,  she  is  determined  to 
leave  no  stone  unturned  in  the  path  by  which 
she  proposes  to  lead  Ethel  out  of  the  local 
difficulty;  and,  without  consulting  Ethel's  feel- 
ings or  wishes  in  the  least,  proceeds  to  pull 
various  strings,  by  means  of  which  she  intends 
to  set  various  influential  puppets  in  motion. 

VOL.   I.  H 


98  Allerton    Towers. 

"  Keep  her  from  corresponding  with  the 
young  man  while  she  is  away,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  me,"  her  ladyship  says  to  Mrs. 
Heatherley,  "  and  be  ready  to  start  within 
an  hour  after  Ethel  hears  that  we  are 
going." 

"  All  letters  shall  wait  our  return,  and 
I'm  always  in  light  marching  order,"  Mrs, 
Heatherley  says,  blithely.  "  My  only  diffi- 
culty will  be  in  case  she  insists  on  seeing 
him   before    she  goes." 

"  Don't  let  her  know  she's  going  till  he  has 
started  on  his  long  morning  round.  The  rest 
will  be  easy.  Ethel  is  not  an  infatuated 
goose.  She  won't  be  impolite  enough  to 
want  to  make  us  lose  our  train,  in  order  that 
she  may  take  a  sentimental  leave  of  her 
lover,"  Lady  St.  Just  says,  gruffly.  And  on 
these  lines  Mrs.    Heatherley  works. 

Ethel  is  apprised  of  the  contemplated 
pleasure-trip,  made  to  engross  herself  with 
"Dackincf,  told  of  Miss  Gifford's  arrival  with  a 

J.  o ' 

"  lovely  friend,  who  has  already  shocked  the 
worthy  mistress  of  the  Uplands  by  her  eager- 
ness   to    see    Mr.    Gifford,"    and,  in    short. 


^4  Father  s  Prayer  and  Plan.  99 

admirably  "  managed "  through  the  hour 
that  elapses  between  her  hearing  that  she 
is    to   go,    and   her   going. 

When,  in  a  flush  of  pleased  excitement  at 
the  prospect  of  the  change,  mixed  with  a 
blush  at  the  sound  of  the  alarming  charms 
of  Miss  Somerset,  Ethel  comes  down  ready 
dressed  for  the  journey.  Lady  St.  Just  is 
Avaitinoj  for  them  in  her  carriao^e  at  the 
door. 

"  Mother,"  Ethel  Avhispers,  "  you  said 
you'd  go  and  tell  Walter,  and  fetch  him  up. 
Have  you  been?     Why  isn't  he  here?" 

"  His  sister  was  there,  dear  child,  and  1 
could  not  get  a  clear  answer  from  her  as  to 
where  her  brother  was,"  Mrs.  Heatherley  says, 
with  affected  hesitation.  "  Don't  mind  it, 
dear ;  if  he's  worth  anything,  he  will  not  be 
dazzled  away  from  you,  though  they  say  this 
Miss  Somerset  is  very  dazzling.  I  almost  wish 
I  had  not  sent  up  to  the  farm  for  eggs  this 
morning  ;  then  I  should  not  have  heard  of 
her  beauty,  and  her  anxiety  to  see  '  Walter,' 
as  she  calls  him.  The  servant  told  Sarah 
that  the  young  lady  wouldn't  eat  any  break- 

h2 


100  Allerton  Toicer.'i 


fast  till  Miss  Gifford  went  to  fetch  her 
brother ;  so,  I  suppose,  he  had  gone  to  the 
Uplands  when  I  went  to  his  house  with  your 
message.  Naturally,  I  did  not  leave  it  with 
his   sister." 

Mrs.  Heatherley  speaks  almost  sadly,  her 
sympathy  with  her  child  is  so  strong.  But 
her  heart  bounds  with  delio'ht  when  Ethel 
replies : 

"  Come,  mother,  dear  ;  Lady  St.  Just  is 
waiting  for  us.  Walter  will  write  to  me,  if 
he  cares  still.  Of  course,  he'll  get  our 
address   from    the  servants." 

This  is  not  said  in  the  form  of  a  question ; 
consequently  Mrs.  Heatherley  does  not  feel 
called  upon  to  answer  it.  In  a  few  minutes 
her  heart  bounds  more  exultantly  still !  They 
are  clear  out  of  Allerton  Towers  without 
having  met  with  any  obstruction  from  Walter 
Gifford.  It  will  be  six  weeks  before  he  will 
have  a  chance  of  making  a  personal  appeal 
to  Ethel !  Time  is  so  kind  in  the  way  of 
obliterating  one  set  of  impressions,  and 
substituting  others.  Ethel  is  so  pretty,  and 
fascinating,    and    sensible ;     and    dear    Lady 


A  Father  s  Prayer  and  Plan.  101 

St.  Just  is  so  practical  and  successful  as  a 
social  diplomatist !  No  wonder  that  Mrs. 
Heatherley  feels  satisfied  that  these  ensuing 
six  weeks  will  contain  all  the  possibilities 
on    which    she  relies    to  save    her. 

"It  has  all  been  so  sudden  that  I  don't 
even  know  where  we  are  going,  first,"  Ethel 
says,  as  the  train  bears  them  free  of  Allerton 
Towers. 

"Be  satisfied  to  know  that  Lady  St.  Just 
has'  arranged  a  series  of  most  delightful 
surprises  for  3'ou,  Ethel.  You  could  never 
have  arranged  anything  half  so  charming 
for  yourself,"  her  mother  says,  rapturously : 
and  Ethel  strives  to  express  gratitude,  and 
to  repress  curiosity.  But  the  latter  is  very 
strong  within  her,  and  will  put  forth  its  head 
again  presently. 

"Shall  we  be  travelling  all  the  time.  Lady 
St.  Just?" 

"  We  shall  travel  till  we  settle  for  a  time," 
her  ladyship  says,  and  again  Ethel  combats 
curiosity  successfully  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Shall  w^e  settle  for   more  than  a  week?" 

Lady  St.  Just  nods  assent. 


102  Allerton  Towers. 


"  For  a  fortnight ;  or  a  month    perhaps  P  " 

"  About  a  month ;  that  will  bring  us  to 
the  end  of  September,  and  the  best  of  the 
shooting   will    be    over  then." 

"  Oh !  Are  we  going  to  stay  at  a  shoot- 
ing box  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"At   one    of   Lord  St.    Just's?" 

"At   one    he  rents." 

"Where  is  it?  " 

"In   Gloucestershire." 

"  Lady  St.  Just,  do  tell  me  a  little  more 
about  it ;  I've  never  been  at  a  shooting 
box ;  is  this  one  large  or  small,  beautiful 
or   bleak,    and  what   is    it    called  ? " 

"  It's  a  bijou  shooting  box,  and  it's  called 
Boyne  Gate,"  Lady  St.  Just  says,  fixing  her 
eyes  full  on  Ethel.  "  If  you  want  to  know 
more  about  it,  my  dear,  you  must  get  your 
information  from  the  Marquis  of  Monkstown, 
of  whom  we  rent  it,  when  he  and  his  son, 
Lord  Kenmare,  come  to  stay  with  us  in  a 
fortnight." 

Ethel  feels  her  face  tingling  as  this  abrupt 
mention   is   made   of  Marcus    Boyne's    father 


A  Father's  Prayer  and  Plan.  103 

and    brother ;    but    she    struggles    to    speak 
unconcernedly : 

"  I  thought  Lord  Kenmare  was  very  ill  ? " 
"  The  one  you  are  thinking  of  died  the 
day  before  yesterday ;  Marcus  is  Kenmare 
now.  And  now,  my  dear,  take  your  book^ 
or  keep  quiet ;  I  like  to  read  when  I'm 
travelling,  and  hate  to  be  bothered  with 
questions." 

Ethel  is  only  too  glad  to  avail  herself 
of  the  opportunity  of  hiding  her  confusion 
under  cover  of  being  engrossed  with  a 
book.  Has  Fate  played  her  this  trick,  and 
are  her  mother  and  Lady  St.  Just  guiltless 
in  the  matter  of  bringing  her  into  collision 
with  that  delightfully  dangerous  rock  on 
which  her  fidelity  to  Walter  Gifford  was 
so  nearly  wrecked  the  other  day?  If  Fate 
alone  is  to  blame,  then  will  Ethel  go 
through  the  ordeal  of  another  meeting 
with  Marcus  without  repining  and  without 
reproach.  But  if  her  mother  and  Lady 
St.  Just  are  leagued  against  her  and  Walter, 
then  Ethel  w^ill  retire  from  the  unequal 
battle,    lest    she    loses    it. 


104  Allerton  Towers. 

"  Oh,  Walter !  pray  that  I  may  be  true  if 
I  am  tried,"  the  girl  says  to  herself,  "  for  I 
love  you  and  honour  you ;  but  the  other  loves 
me  so  well,  and  tells  me,  too,  so.  warmly." 

Meanwhile  "  the  other  " — his  sorrowful 
duty  of  soothing  the  last  sad,  nearly  un- 
conscious hours  of  his  afflicted  brother  over 
— is  trying  hard  to  reconcile  the  conflicting 
influences  of  his  father   and  his  unwon  love. 

The  young  man's  task  is  a  hard  one.  He 
is  Lord  Kenmare  now,  the  heir  and  hope  of 
his  house,  and  his  father  can  but  partially 
conceal  the  satisfaction  he  feels  in  having 
such  an  heir.  The  Marquis  of  Monkstown 
has  suffered  keenly  both  in  his  affections  and 
his  pride  during  the  whole  term  of  life 
allotted  to  the  poor  boy  who  is  now  gone. 
He  has  loved  him,  Kenmare,  as  a  son,  but  he 
has  shrank  with  bitter  sickening  pain  of  mind 
and  heart  from  the  thought  of  Kenmare  as 
his  successor.  And  in  a  dim  way  the  poor 
young  fellow,  who  has  not  been  so  altogether 
witless  as  some  have  believed,  has  felt  and 
mourned  over  his  own  indolent  inability  to 
satisfy.     When  this  grief  and  mourning  and 


A  Father  s  Prayer  and  Plan.  105 

self-distrust  has  been  overwlielmincr  him  at 
times,  he  would  have  died  under  it,  battered 
down  by  the  hard  heavy  cruelty  of  it,  had 
it  not  been  for  his  brother  Marcus.  But 
Marcus  is  too  like  tlie  mother  the-y  loved  and 
have  lost,  to  have  anything  but  deep  generous 
love  in  his  heart  for  his  brother.  So  it  is  in 
Marcus's  arms  that  Kenmare  has  died,  and  to 
Marcus's  lot  it  falls  now  to  bear  the  brunt 
of  the  first  burst  of  mino-led  orrief  and  relief 
which  emanates  from  Lord  Monkstown, 
•carrying  with  it  a  confidence  which  is 
almost  a  command. 

"While  my  poor  boy  lived  I  said  nothing 
to  you  about  your  cousin  Caroline ;  your 
uncle  would  never  have  let  her  look  at 
you,"  liord  Monkstown  says  to  the  son  who 
is  Lord  Kenmare  now,  and  who  will  be 
Marquis  of  Monkstown,  the  day  after  the 
death  which  Marcus  is  deploring  with  boyish 
honesty  and  fervour ;  "  but  it's  different 
now,  and  it's  my  duty  as  a  father  to  tell 
you  what  good  fortune  may  be  yours  for 
the   asking." 

"  I    think    there's  only    one    human   being 


106  Allerton  Towers. 


on  the  face  of  the  earth  for  whom  I  care 
rather  less  than  I  do  for  my  cousin  Carohne, 
and  that  is  for  my  uncle  Hawtrey,"  Kenmare 
says,  languidly.  His  thoughts  are  with  his 
dead  brother  and  his  living  love,  Ethel 
Heatherley,  "  who  will  be  sorry  for  his 
loss  when  she  hears  of  it."  He  does  not 
like  having  these  thoughts  rudely  disturbed 
by  suggestions  about  relations  whom  he 
rather    dislikes    than   otherwise. 

"  Caroline  Hawtrey  has  fifty  thousand  a 
year    of    her    own,"    Lord   Monkstown    says. 

"  Ah  !  so  I've  heard ;  she  has  reason  to 
bless  Cotton.  I  suppose  she'll  buy  a  title 
with  it ;  something  bigger  than  her  mother 
succeeded  in  getting.  Sir  John  Hawtrey 
was  quite  a  little  one,  but  he's  a  more 
decent  article  to  hand  about  as  a  father, 
than  old  Willesdon,  of  Manchester,  is  re- 
puted to  have  been." 

"  Sir  John  Hawtrey  is  your  mother's  bro- 
ther, Kenmare,"  the  Marquis  says,  rebukingly, 
but  his  eyes  kindle  with  sympathetic  fire 
when  his  son  flashes  out — 

"  A  brother  who  gave  my  mother  many  a 


A  Father  s  Prayer  and  Plan.  1U7 

heart-aclie,  many  a  rude  rebuff  and  harsh 
word  when  she  was  Lady  Kenmare,  and  some 
of  his  bloated  wealth  mi^ht  have  made  life 
smoother  than  it  was  then  for  you  and  her. 
My  brother,  perhaps,  would  not  have  been 
afflicted  as  he  was  if  his  mother's  brother 
had  been  more  of  a  man  and  less  of  a  mean 
brute  before  your  eldest  son  was  born,  sir." 

"  Forget  old  injuries,  Kenmare ;  Sir  John 
and  I  have  been  friendly  now  for  many  a 
long  year ;  we  buried  the  hatchet " 

"  When  you  came  to  the  title  and  a  good 
property ;  yes,  I  know  that,  father ;  but  my 
brother's  case  was  beyond  medical  skill  by 
that  time,  I've  heard  my  mother  say,  and  when 
Sir  John  Hawtrey  sheds  crocodile  tears  over 
Kenmare's  grave,  I  shall  remember  and  per- 
haps remind  him  that  the  nephew  he  professes 
to  lament  might  have  been  alive  and  well 
now,  if  he  had  spared  a  few  guineas  from  his 
thousands  some  years  ago  to  a  sister's  prayers 
and  tears." 

"  Forgive  us  our  trespasses  as  we  forgive 
them  that  trespass  against  us ; "  quotes  Lord 
Monkstown,  gravely  and  earnestly,  laying  his 


108  Allertcm  Toicers. 

hand  on  his  son's  shoulder.  "  Besides,"  he 
adds,  "  in  any  case  she  is  guiltless  of  all 
offence  ac^ainst  us.  She  must  not  be  held 
accountable  or  to  blame  for  her  father's 
indifference  and  neglect.  You  are  in  a  posi- 
tion to  ask  for  the  hand  of  any  woman  in 
England  ;  your  uncle  will  admit  that,  though 
his  daughter  is  a  magnificent  match  from  the 
money  point  of  view,  you  will  bestow  a  grand 
equivalent  on  her  ;  and  as  you  are  free  to 
make  it,  I  pray  you  to  do  so,  my  boy,  for 
Irish   land  no  longer  keeps  up  Irish  titles." 

"  I'm  not  free  to  make  it,"  Kenmare  says, 
■quietly.  He  has  grown  considerably  older 
during  these  sad  days  which  he  has  spent  by 
the  bedside  of  his  dying  brother.  Manhood 
and  boyhood  are  separated  by  so  fine  and 
delicate  a  line  that  a  sharp  touch  of  sorrow, 
a  keen  feeling  of  responsibility,  are,  as  a  rule, 
quite  sufficient  to  break  it. 

"  Not  free  !  "  Lord  Monkstown  has  bushy 
eyebrows  and  penetrating  deep  blue  eyes. 
His  glance  stabs  like  steel  as  he  utters  these 
words — "  Not  free  !  " 

"  Well,  not  free  in  a  sense,"  Kenmare  says, 


A  Father's  Prayer  and  Plan.  109 

moving  uneasily  under  the  stabbing  glance, 
not  from  any  feeling  of  shame  for  his  love, 
but  because  of  the  disquieting  doubt  he  has 
of  having  won  anything  like  reciprocal  feeling 
from  her, 

"  In  what  sense,  may  I  ask,  are  you — who 
are  responsible  now  for  the  honour  of  the 
house  and  the  welfare  of  the  house — bound?  " 
the  Marquis  asks,  with  his  grandest,  because 
it  is  his  most  subdued  and  intensely  quiet 
manner. 

"I  am  neither  bound  nor  free,"  Kenmare 
says,  trying  to  laugh  away  his  own  confusion. 
"The  truth  is,  sir,  I  have  seen  a  girl  who 
seems  to  me  to  be  the  only  girl  I  can  ever 
care  to  marry,  but  I  am  afraid  she  will  never 
care  to  marry  me." 

"  May  I  ask  whether  or  not  you  have 
confided  these  romantic  sentiments  to  the 
young  lady  ?  " 

"  I  have  let  her  know  tliat  I  like  her — that 
I  like  her  better  than  any  one  else  in  the 
world,"  Kenmare  says,  flushing  hotly. 

"  And  she,  I  presume,  has  been  prudent 
enough  to  say  nothing  definite?" 


110  Allerton  Towers. 

"Why  should  you  presume  that,  sir?" 
Kenmare  asked,  angrily. 

"'  Because  I  assume  that  you  declared 
yourself — while  you  were  my  second  son — 
with  no  income  worth  mentioning;  it  is 
to  the  credit  of  the  girls  of  this  generation 
that  they  are  prudent  enough  to  be  indefinite 
with  younger   sons." 

"  She  is  not  a  girl  of  the  class  you  are 
thinking  of,  sir  !  " 

"  Good  Heavens,  Kenmare,  I  am  thinking 
of  gentlewomen  of  our  own  class !  Is  your 
enslaver  beyond  that  pale?" 

"  She  is  the  sweetest  gentlewoman  that  ever 
breathed,"  Kenmare  cries,  hotly ;  "  but  she 
is  not  a  fashionable  girl  who  regulates  her 
smiles  to  the  fellows  about  her  according  to 
their  incomes ;  the  same  day  I  told  her  dear 
old  Ken.  was  dying,  I  told  her  that  I  loved 
her  and  would  go  back  to  her ;  and  she 
stood  out  against  me,  and  tried  her  best  to 
make  me  feel  that  nothing  should  ever  tempt 
her  to " 

He  pauses  abruptly;  after  all,  he  is  not 
justified  in  speaking  of  Ethel's  engagement  to 


^4  Father  s  Prayer  and  Plan.  Ill 

Mr.  Gifford,  to  his  father,  who  will  regard  it 
as  another  insurmountable  barrier  to  the  ac- 
complishment of  his  own  (Kenmare's)  wishes. 

"  Yes !  that  nothing  shall  ever  tempt  her 
to  do — do  what  ? "  Lord  Monkstown  asks, 
icily. 

"  To — to  have  anything  to  do  with  me," 
Kenmare  stammers  out,  composedly,  and  Lord 
Monkstown  smiles  in  a  weary,  pitying  way, 
that  shows  he  suspects  his  son  is  not  stating 
the  case  fully. 

"  I  will  not  ask  you  to  tell  me  this  young 
lady's  name  ;  it  is  probably  one  I  have  never 
heard,  nor  will  I  ask  where  you  met  her ; 
Townley  ought  to  have  known  better  than  to 
bring  you  in  contact  with  designing  rustic 
beauty ;  however,  as  things  are,  all  is  well, 
and  I  am  happy  to  find  that  I  can  honour- 
ably repeat  what  I  said  of  you  just  now — 
you  are  free  to  make  the  best  match  that 
may  be  made  in  the  kingdom  ;  I  need  not 
add,  my  boy,  that  it  is  the  fervent  prayer  of 
my  poor,  over-tried  heart,  that  you  make  it." 

"Does  Miss  Hawtrey  know  of  your 
wishes  ?  "  Kenmare  asked,  gloomily. 


112  Allerton  Towers. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  "  Is  it 
hkely  that  we  would  risk  wounding  her 
amour  j^ropre  until  we  were  sure  of  your 
prompt  and  eager  acquiescence  in  the  scheme 
for  your  own  happiness.  Caroline  will 
accompany  her  father,  and  when  they  leave 
we  shall  go  back  with  them  ;  Boyne  Gate  is 
close  to  Hawtrey's  place,  and  I  have  accepted 
an  invitation  from  St.  Just  to  stay  there  for  a 
month  ;  by  the  way.  Lady  St.  Just  hopes  that 
you  will  go  to  her  for  a  few  days." 

"  Hate  staying  at  Boyne  Gate,"  Kenmare 
grumbles,  little  guessing  who  will  be  there 
to  make  Boyne  Gate  an  Elysium  on  earth  to 
him. 

"  When  you're  tired  of  it  you  can  go  to 
your  Uncle  Hawtrey's,  and  in  her  own  home 
you  will  have  the  best  opportunity  of  study- 
ing the  best  way  of  winning  ray  dear  little 
niece,"  Lord  Monkstown  says,  conclusively ; 
and  for  the  time  Kenmare  feels  that  it  will 
be  wise  on  his  part  to  say  no  more  of 
Ethel. 

The  poor  young  fellow  feels  the  iron  enter- 
ing  into  him  whichever  way  he  turns.     On 


A  Father  s  Prayer  and  Plan.  113 

the  one  side  is  Ethel,  who,  though  she  has 
not  disdained,  has  unquestionably  not  en- 
couraged his  suit,  and  on  the  other  side  is 
his  father  unconditionally  scorning  him  for 
pursuing  it — or  rather,  for  wanting  to  pursue 
it,  and  despising  Ethel  without  knowing 
her. 

"  Jove !  she'd  match  him  for  pride,  and 
beat  him  hollow  for  savoir  faire,''  Kenmare 
tells  himself.  At  the  same  time  he  admits 
to  himself  that  his  father  will  liave  a  fair 
amount  of  right  and  justice  on  his  side 
even  if  he  does  oppose  an  alliance  with  the 
Heatherleys  with  all  his  might. 

"  The  girl  is  perfect,  as  perfect  as  my  wife 
ought  to  be,"  the  young  fellow  says,  proudly 
to  himself,  "  but  I  wouldn't  like  to  meet  the 
mother  in  the  dark  if  I  had  offended  lier ; 
she'd  as  soon  throttle  that  young  doctor  now 
as  look  at  him — for  the  sake  of  clearing  m}^ 
path ;  and  if  an  eligible  duke  cast  a  gracious 
glance  at  Ethel ! — the  woman  I  want  to  make 
my  mother-in-law  would  gladly  poison  me ! 
All  the  same,  I'll  risk  the  surgeon's  life  and 
my  own  for  Ethel's  sake." 

VOL.   I.  I 


CHAPTER    VII. 

FANNY     YEARNS     FOR ? 

npHE  travelling  has  been  very  pleasant, 
pleasant  as  only  wealth  and  experi- 
ence can  make  travelling,  and,  while 
it  has  lasted,  Ethel  has  scarcely  been  con- 
scious of  missing  anything  ;  for  the  girl  is  still 
young  enough  and  fresh  enough  to  find 
happiness  in  mere  change  of  scene  ;  and, 
moreover,  she  has  been  the  pet  of  the  party. 
All  things  have  been  made  to  mould  them- 
selves to  her  wishes,  and  the  feeling  of 
consequence  this  course  of  treatment  has 
engendered  has  been  very  delightful  to  her. 
Two  or  three  people  who  were  not  in  the 
original  programme  have  joined  the  party  at 
various  places.  The  Bishop  and  his  daughter 
ran  against  them  as  they  sauntered  through 
a  Surrey  village  one  evening,  in  a  way  that 
would  have  surprised  Lady  St.  Just  and  Ethel 
much  less  than  it  did  if  they  had  only  known 


Fanny  Yearns  for f  115 

that  Mrs.  Heatherley  had  written  to  the 
Bishop  three  days  before,  hinting  that  a 
rencontre  with  him  in  this  very  place  would 
be  one  of  the  happiest  incidents  of  the  tour. 
This  bait  would,  she  well  knew,  be  quite 
sufficient  to  catch  his  lordship,  were  it  not 
for  his  daughter.  That  young  lady  being 
capable  of  interfering  successfully  for  the 
salvation  of  her  parent,  if  free  herself,  it  was 
necessary  to  hang  a  tempting  bait  out  for 
her  also,  therefore,  Mrs.  Heatherley  threw 
a  September  fly  for  her,  and  landed  her 
cleverly. 

"  I  am  sure  Miss  Templeton  and  you  will 
both  be  glad  to  hear  that  poor  Lord  Kenmare 
has  sufficiently  recovered  from  the  crushing 
effects  of  the  grief  he  felt  at  his  brother's 
death  to  promise  to  join  us  at  Weybridge, 
and,  after  a  few  days  spent  there  in  sketching, 
boating,  and  fishing,  to  go  on  with  us  to 
Boyne  Place,"  the  pretty  little  widow  wrote, 
laughing  to  herself  the  while,  and  telling 
herself  that  "dear  Fanny  will  leap  at  this 
bait,  and  will  bring  dear  papa  to  my  feet 
without   delay,  rather   than  lose   the    oppor- 

I  2 


]16  Allerton  Towers. 

tunity  of  displaying  her  pretty  innocence 
and  disinterestedness  to  Kenmare  in  the  midst 
of  river  scenery !  Let  her  come  !  He  will 
never  even  see  her  when   my  Ethel  is  by." 

So  they  are  at  Weybridge  now,  spending 
the  late  August  days  very  happily,  according 
to  their  respective  lights.  Lady  St.  Just,  who 
really  loves  Ethel  Heatherley  for  her  frankness 
and  good  looks,  loves  sketching  also,  and  is 
well  satisfied  to  sit  for  hours  in  one  of  the 
exquisite  glades  on  St.  George's  Hill,  while 
the  young  folks  roam  about,  and  lose  them- 
selves in  the  wood,  or  to  float  idly  in  a  boat 
on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Thames,  while 
Kenmare  teaches  Ethel  how  to  hold  her 
line,  and  takes  the  little  roach  and  barbel 
off  her  hook,  with  a  lingering  tenderness 
that  is  a  maddening  thing  for  Miss  Tem- 
pleton  to  witness. 

For  Fanny  does  not  do  herself  the  injustice 
of  absenting  herself  from  any  of  these 
lounges  through  the  wood  and  on  the  river, 
and,  to  her  surprise,  Ethel  never  seems  to 
wish  to  rid  them  of  her  (Fanny's)  compan- 
ionship.     The    Bishop's    daughter    is    fairly 


Fanny  Yearns  for ?  117 

puzzled  by  this  toleration,  and  is  vexedly 
uncertain  whether  it  is  attributable  to  indiffer- 
ence to  Kenmare  or  contempt  for  her  own 
charms.  But  whatever  it  may  be,  she  takes 
advantage  of  it  to  the  utmost,  and  gives  them 
all  to  understand  that  "  dear  Ethel  can't  bear 
to  be  a  moment  without  her,"  And  as  Ethel 
does  not  take  the  trouble  to  contradict  this 
statement,  or  in  any  way  to  tone  it  down,  Ken- 
mare is  compelled  to  take  a  part  constantly 
in  a  trio  while  he  is  pining  for  a  duet. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Ethel  is  almost  glad  of 
the  girlish  vigilance  which  protects  her  from 
an  outspoken  avowal  from  Kenmare.  For  she 
is  tempest-tossed  in  her  own  soul  now  by 
reason  of  the  doubt  of  him,  which  Walter 
Gifford's  continued  silence  is  causing  her  to 
feel.  And,  worse  than  the  silence,  is  the 
rumour  which  every  now  and  again  floats 
past  her  unwilling  ear,  relative  to  the  beauty, 
and  bewitching  charms  and  caprices,  and  the 
lavish  liberality  to  the  poor,  of  Miss  Somerset, 
"  the  doctor's  sister's  friend." 

There  is  much  of  the  happiness  of  "  stolen 
joy "    in    this    period    to    Kenmare.     He    has 


118  Allerton  Toicers. 

joined  them  at  Lady  St.  Just's  bidding,  and 
his  father  is  well  pleased  that  it  should  be 
so,  for  every  day  the  Marquis  hopes  to  hear 
they  are  at  Boyne  Gate,  in  Caroline's  atmo- 
sphere. An  additional  source  of  peace  and 
satisfaction  to  Lord  Monkstown  may  be 
found  in  the  fact  of  his  utter  ignorance 
and  unsuspicion  of  Miss  Heatherley  being  the 
girl  for  whom  iiis  only  son's  heart  is  sick. 

His  son  ]]as  not  kept  him  in  the  dark  as 
to  the  names  of  the  other  guests  of  Lady 
St.  Just.  With  a  half-sense  of  its  being 
better  to  be.  ingenuous  than  secret,  Lord 
Kenmare  has  written  :  "  There  are  three  or 
four  people  here  who  seem  to  mean  staying 
on  at  Boyne  Gate.  The  Bishop  of  Allerton 
Towers,  an  old  chap  who  would  always  be 
Vicar  of  Bray,  and  who  promotes  men  of 
power  and  promise  in  his  diocese  without 
regard  to  their  views,  provided  they  can 
serve  him  when  promoted ;  and  his  daugh- 
ter, a  girlisli  young  creature,  who  means,  I 
fancy,  to  be  Lady  Kenmare ;  Grove,  the 
Bishop's  chaplain,  a  right  good  fellow,  and 
Mrs.  Heatherley  and  her  daughter.      Mrs.  H. 


Fanny  Year 7X8 for f  111) 

means  the  Bishop,  as  decidedly  as  the  Bishop's 
daughter  means  me,  and  if  the  latter  goes 
on  neglecting  her  home  policy  on  the 
chance  of  widening  her  borders  and  annexing 
me,  she  will  find  herself  liberally  endowed 
with  a  step-mother  before  she  has  time  for 
protest  or  resistance." 

"•  The  governor  can  never  say  that  I  have 
kept  Ethel's  being  here  dark,"  Kenmare  tells 
himself  boldly,  as  he  finishes  writing  this 
letter,  which  carries  the  happy  conviction 
to  his  father's  mind  that  "  the  boy  is  safe 
enough  with  the  St.  Just  set." 

But  though  Kenmare  tells  himself  that  he 
is  putting  himself  beyond  the  reach  of  re- 
proach by  writing  thus,  his  conscience  tells 
him  that  he  is  acting  disingenuously  to  say 
the  least  of  it,  if  not  deceitfully,  in  throwing 
his  father  off  the  right  track  by  his  mention 
of  the  Bisliop's  daughter,  and  mere  cursory 
allusion  to  Miss  Heatherley.  It  is  in  vain  he 
tells  himself  that  he  has  written  nothing:  but 
the  truth.  He  knows  that  he  has  suppressed 
the  only  part  of  it  which  holds  vital  interest 
for  his  father. 


120  Allerton  Towers. 

The  hotel  at  which  they  have  temporarily 
established  themselves  in  Weybridge  is  down 
close  by  the  ferry.  You  have  only  to  saunter 
a  few  yards  along  the  road,  turn  a  corner 
round  a  hedge,  and  you  find  yourself  on  a 
slope  of  grass,  with  the  broad  shining  river 
running  along  at  your  feet. 

The  silence  and  the  beauty  of  the  scene  are 
very  conducive  to  sentiment,  especially  by 
moonlight  ;  and  by  moonlight-  Lord  Ken- 
mare  strives  to  teach  the  full  beauty  of  it, 
and  of  all  the  possibilities  it  suggests,  to 
Ethel. 

They  are  come  to  the  very  last  August 
days  now,  and  the  harvest  moon  is  nearly 
full.  Dinner  is  over,  and  the  elders  of  the 
party  have  settled  themselves  to  the  work 
that  so  speedily  brings  its  OAvn  sweet  reward, 
of  peeling  peaches  and  pouring  out  the  wines 
that  best  assimilate  with  the  subtle  flavour  of 
the  fruit.  The  young  people  have  strolled 
out,  nominally  to  look  at  the  effect  of  the 
moon  over  the  extreme  tip  of  the  highest 
chimney-pot.  When  they  have  admired  this 
exhaustively,  a   suggestion    floats   in   the  air 


Fanny  Yearns  for '?  Izl 

as  to  their  going  down  to  the  river,  and 
Ethel  and  Miss  Tempieton  act  on  it  at 
once. 

"  We  ought  to  follow  the  ladies  and  see 
that  they  come  to  no  harm,"  Lord  Kenmare 
says  to  Mr.  Grove,  and  the  latter  immediately 
assenting  (though  at  the  same  time  he  prac- 
tically remarks  that  "  the  ladies  are  safe 
enough"),  the  quartette  presently  stand  on 
the  bank  looking  out  at  the  ferry. 

iSuddenly  the  boat  glides  close  up  to  them, 
and  without  giving  a  thought  to  the  con- 
sequences, Ethel  slips  her  liand  out  from 
Miss  Templeton's  restraining  arm,  and  reach- 
ing a  ste])  forward,  cries : 

"  Let  us  cross  over  to  the  other  side, 
do?     Who  will  come  with   me?" 

"You  must  not  think  of  it,  Ethel,"  Fanny 
says,  assuming  the  duenna  demeanour  far  too 
naturally  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  youthful 
rule  she  desires  to  play.  "  Papa  won't  like  it, 
and  Em  sure  Lady  St.  Just " 

"Motlier  won't  mind  my  going,  I  know 
that,"  Ethel  laughs.  "You  had  better  all 
three    of    you    go    back    and    proclaim    that 


122  Allerton  Tov-ers. 

you    have    no    part  Avith   disobedient  me.     I 
mean  to  go  over." 

"  And  I  mean  to  come  with  you,"  Kenmare 
cries,  jumping  into  the  boat,  and  drawing 
Ethel  after  him,  and  in  an  instant  the  ferry- 
man pushes  off.  Perhaps  he  feels  that  the 
young  pair  in  the  boat  are  not  dependent 
for  their  current  happiness  upon  the  other 
pair  on  the  bank. 

Miss  Templeton's  delicate  pink  cheeks  grew 
rosier  even  in  the  cold  moonlight. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  an  audacious  girl 
as  Ethel  Heatherley?"  she  exclaims;  "drag- 
ging Lord  Kenmare  away  alone  with  her  in 
this  way ;  her  conduct  would  be  bold  and 
disgusting  even  if  she  were  not  engaged,  as 
it  is  it's  disgraceful  beyond  everything." 

"  It  was  not  Miss  Heatherley's  doings  that 
the  boat  pushed  off  without  us,"  Mr.  Grove 
laughs ;  "  she  wanted  us  all  to  go,  if  you 
remember ;  it  is  Lord  Kenmare  who  has 
seized  the  opportunity." 

"The  opportunity!  for  what?" 

"  For  being  alone  with  the  girl  he  loves." 

"  Nonsense !      she     compels     him     to     pay 


Fanny  Yearns  for ?  123 

her  attention  by  flirting  at  him  abominably, 
but  I  am  sure  he's  not  serious,"  Fanny  says, 
sharply ;  "  I  could  tell  by  the  way  he  looked 
at  me  as  he  2:ot  in  that  he  wanted  me  to  2:0 
too  ;  but  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  doing  such 
things,"  she  winds  up,  lamely. 

"  I  think  you're  mistaken  about  his  having 
wished  you  to  go  with  them,"  Grove  says, 
simply ;  and  then,  without  having  the 
slightest  desire  to  mortify  her,  but  just  be- 
cause it  is  the  case  and  he  knows  it,  he  adds  : 

"  I  saw  him  slip  a  coin  into  the  ferry-man's 
hand,  and  heard  him  whisper  '  Shove  off.' 
I  wish  him  success  with  Miss  Heath erley,  with 
all  my  heart ;  she'll  make  a  splendid  little 
marchioness   and  an   equally  good  wife." 

Miss  Templeton  shivers  as  she  hears  her 
own  fears  and  suspicions  confirmed  in  this 
way,  and  a  gnawing  desire  to  put  herself 
beyond  Lord  Kenmare's  reach  should  he  even 
yet  repent  him  of  his  evil  ways  and  want  to 
reach  her,  takes  possession  of  her.  She  has 
resolved  that  she  will  not  return  to  Allerton 
Towers  a  free  and  fetterless  thing.  As  the 
Bishop's    daughter     she    knows    that    she   is 


124  Allerton  Towers. 

pretty  nearly  played  out.  But  as  the  ambi- 
tious, gracious,  patrouising,  powerful  wife  of 
a  risuig  mau,  she  may  still  play  a  distin- 
guished part  m  the  secular  element  of  clerical 
life  in  the  diocese. 

And  who  so  fitted  to  rise  as  the  man 
standing  by  her  side?  Her  father's  chap- 
lain, the  one  who  steers  the  Bishop  over 
stormy  seas  with  such  safety  and  discretion. 
There  hangs  about  him,  too,  a  halo  of 
romance,  for  he  has  loved  her  long  and  well, 
she  firmly  believes,  and  nothing  less  than 
the  prospect  of  a  coronet  would  have  made 
her  waver  from  him.  As  it  is,  she  con- 
gratulates herself  on  tlie  wavering  having 
all  been  done  cautiously  and  decently,  on 
having  been  all  done  "  inwardly,"  in  fact, 
and  so  being  invisible  to  the  naked  eye. 

In  the  course  of  the  few  minutes  that 
elapse  between  the  ferry-boat  leaving  the 
Weybridge  bank  and  gaining  the  Shepper- 
ton  side,  Miss  Templeton,  though  she  watches 
it  with  all  she  has  of  heart  in  her  eyes,  has 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  "  Mr.  Grove 
deserves  to  be  rewarded  by  her  for  his  touch- 


Fanny  Yearns  for ?  125 

ing  devotion  and  fidelity,  and  that  slie  will 
reward  him."  It  will  be  doubly  his  duty 
after  this  to  preserve  papa  from  all  those 
perils  to  which  bishops,  who  must  talk  (and 
can't  talk)  in  convocation  and  elsewhere,  are 
liable.  And  it  will  be  doubly  pleasant  for 
her  to  lay  this  honourable  onus  upon  him 
now  on  this  evening,  when  Lord  Kenmare 
may  be  conceited  enough  to  suppose  that 
she  is  suffering:  from  his  desertion. 

It  does  not  occur  to  her  for  a  moment 
that,  having  herself  loosened  Mr,  Grove's 
shackles,  he  may  be  unwilling  and  unready 
to  tio'hten  them  ag^ain.  He  has  been  so  con- 
sistently  kind,  courteous,  cheerful,  affable, 
and  Avell  satisfied  during  these  last  few  weeks 
in  which  she  has  been  considerately  letting 
him  down  from  the  giddy  eminence  of  her 
flattering  regard,  that  she  feels  safe  in  the 
conviction  that  he  has  not  observed  the 
change.  And  though  it  is  mortifying  to  feel 
that  he  has  been  so  unobservant  of  aught 
that  concerns  her,  still  the  law  of  compensa- 
tion works,  and  she  admits  that  in  this  case 
it  is  better  so. 


126  Allerton  Towers. 

It  is  difficult  to  begin  again  with  him  after 
being  out  of  practice  so  long ;  but  mere 
difficulty  is  not  sufficient  to  deter  Fanny. 
As  soon  as  she  can  command  her  voice, 
and  feel  sure  of  speaking  in  soft,  kindly 
tones,  she  replies  to  his  remarks  about 
Ethel  making  a  splendid  marchioness  and 
an    equally  good  wife    by    saying: 

"  If  you  really  think  there  is  a  probability 
of  such  a  happy  ending  to  this  thoughtless 
freak  of  theirs,  they  will  be  just  as  well 
pleased  to  find  us  gone  when  they  come 
back  as  waiting  for   them." 

"  Unquestionably  they  will ;  are  you  feel- 
ing cold?  Shall  we  go  in?  "  he  asks,  with 
amiable,  ready,   obtuse   acquiescence. 

"  Not  in  the  least  cold,  and  not  at  all 
inclined  to  go  in,"  she  says,  lowering  her 
voice  so  that  he  has  to  bend  his  head  to- 
wards her  in  order  to  catch  the  meaning  of 
her  words.  Then  she  turns  and  abstractedly 
paces  along  very  slowly  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion to  the  homeward  one,  and,  as  in  duty 
bound,  he  courteously  paces  along  by  her 
side. 


Fanny  Yearns  for ?  127 

The  moon  is  making  a  silver  pathway  up 
the  river,  and  the  silence  around  them  is 
unbroken.  Now  or  never  is  the  time  for  her 
to  indicate  to  him  that  she  considers  their 
relations   to  one  another  are    unaltered. 

"  This  is  very  sweet,"  she  begins,  looking 
up  at  him,  and  her  face,  rising  out  of  the 
soft  masses  of  a  white  Shetland  shawl,  is 
very  young  and    innocent  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Very  jolly,  indeed,"  he  says,  heartily. 
And  she  replies,  "  Yet  I'm  sure  we  both  long 
to  get  back  to  the  dear  old  Palace  gardens, 
where  we've  spent  so  many,  many  happy 
hours  together  ;  this  travelling  about  is  very 
nice,  but  we  always  seem  to  be  with  other 
people,  and  I  am  getting  tired  of  it ;  do  let 
us  persuade  papa  to  give  up  Boyne  Gate 
and  go  home,  when  the  others  leave  Wey- 
bridge." 

"  I  thought  you  were  enjoying  it,  and 
looking  forward  to  the  time  at  Boyne  Gate 
as  much  as  any  of  us  ?  "  he  says,  in  some 
surprise ;  and  then  he  is  conscious  that 
Fanny  is  appealing  to  him  with  all  the 
mute  power  of  appeal    there   is    in    woman. 


128  Allerton  Towers. 


Her  eyes  are  raised  with  timid  tenderness  to 
his,  her  hand  sUps  into  his  arm  in  order  that 
she  may  steady  herself  in  crossing  a  rugged 
bit  of  turf,  and  the  Avords  she  murmurs 
tremble  on  her  lips. 

"  Happy !  Yes,  I  am  '  happy,'  because 
after  all,  little  as  we  have  been  seeing  of 
each  other  in  the  old  way  lately,  still  we 
have  been  together.  But  /  am  very  faithful 
to  my  love  of  the  old  order  of  things  at  the 
Palace  ;  yow  never  read  to  me  here  as  you 
used  to  do  in  the  garden  at  home ;  these 
people  come  between  us  and  make  us  seem 
to  drift  apart ;  and — well !  altogether,  I  shall 
be  happier  when  we  are  home  again." 

He  cannot  help  understanding  that  she  is 
ready  to  love  once  again ;  but  he  knows  that 
not  only  is  he  not  ready,  but  that  he  never 
will  be  able  to  make  himself  ready  any  more. 
The  coldness  that  he  knows  has  not  been 
caprice  nor  uncertainty,  but  nothing  better 
than  cool  calculation  on  her  part,  has  chilled 
and  nipped  his  budding  regard  for  her. 
Nothing  will  ever  make  it  spring  forth  and 
bloom  again.     But  he  is  a  gentleman  and  he 


Fanny  Yearns  for ?  129 

likes  her,  and  is  sorry  both  for  the  mistake 
she  has  made  in  leaving  him,  and  for  the 
mistake  she  is  now  making  in  coming  back 
to  him. 

"You're  very  fond  of  the  old  Palace,  are 
you  not  ?  "  he  says,  kindly ;  and  then  he  goes 
on,  "  I  don't  wonder  at  it  either,  for  I'm 
sure  if  it  had  been  my  home  as  long  as  it 
has  been  yours,  I  should  be  fond  of  it  too." 

"Are  you  not  fond  of  it  as  it  is?"  she 
asks,  with  tender  reproach,  and  he  thinks 
it  better  for  them  both  that  he  should  be 
very  matter-of-fact  about  it. 

"I  think  the  Palace  a  very  jolly  place  to 
tent  in  for  a  time,  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
fear  a  cathedral-town  sphere  of  work  is  not 
a  congenial  one  to  me  ;  it's  stasfnatinoj ;  the 
chaplaincy  is  too  much  of  a  sinecure  for  a 
strong  young  fellow  like  me;  I  ought  to  be 
in  the  heat  of  the  battle,  and  some  poor 
fellow,  who  has  nearly  worn  himself  out  in 
his    work,  ought  to   have  my  easy  berth." 

"  Do  you  mean-^you  can't  mean  that  you 
think   of  leaving?"   she  gasps. 

"  Indeed  I  do,  Miss  Templeton  ;  I  can  stand 

VOL.   I.  K 


130  AUerton  Tower.<^. 


contact  with  tlie  rough  edges  of  hfe,  and 
many  of  my  brethren  are  physically  unable 
to  do  that,  who  yet  would  fill  my  present 
comfortable  niche  quite  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  It  will  break  papa's  heart  if  you  leave," 
she  says,  vehemently ;  and  then  with  a  sob, 
she  adds  in  a  whisper,  "  and  mine,  too." 

"  I'm  sure  the  Bishop  will  feel  I'm  right,'" 
Mr.  Grove  says,  discreetly  ignoring  the  whis- 
per. "  Look !  they're  crossing  over  again. 
Shall  we  go  ba^k  and  meet  them  ? " 

Fanny's  clasp  on  his  arm  grows  tighter. 
Shall  she,  the  Bishop's  daughter,  meekly  sub- 
mit to  being  conquered  and  discomfited  by 
her  father's  chaplain.  It  is  not  love,  but  a 
wild  craving  desire  to  carry  her  point  which 
prompts  her  now. 

"  Stop  !  "  she  says,  passionately  ;  "  forgive 
me.  I  know  you  have  fancied  me  cold,  or 
not  observant  of  your  affection  for  me,  but 
your  threat  to  go  has  shown  me  the  state  of 
my  own  heart.  I  cannot  let  you  go  without 
telling  you  that  you  have^  entirely  won  me 
now — for  I  cannot  part  with  3'ou." 


CHAPTER  YIII. 

MOTHER   AND    DAUGHTER. 

k'EEHAPS  the  Bishop's  daughter  would 
'^^  not  pursue  her  own  course  with  such 
remorseless  zeal  were  she  endowed 
with  the  useful  gift  of  prescience,  which 
would  enable  her  to  see  the  way  in  Avhich 
her  father  is  improving  the  shining  hour  of 
her  absence. 

All  the  romance  of  the  party  has  not  gone 
out  into  the  moonlight  by  the  river  with  the 
young  people  ;  in  fact,  Mrs.  Heatherley,  whose 
grace  and  tact,  and  happy  art  of  making  the 
best  and  most  of  any  situation  in  which  she 
may  find  herself,  has  passed  into  a  proverb 
in  her  circle,  has  given  the  Bishop  a  glimpse 
of  a  blissful  domestic  picture !  And  the 
Bishop  has  regarded  it  with  affectionately 
approving  eyes. 

Practically  the  mature  pair  are  as  much 
alone  as  either  of  the  young  couples  down  by 

K   2 


132  Allerton  Towers. 

the  river.  For  Lady  St.  Just  sleeps  well  after 
a  generous  dinner,  taken  at  the  close  of  a 
long  open-air  day ;  and  under  cover  of  her 
reassuringly  deep  and  slumberous  breathing, 
Mrs.  Heath erley  shows  the  Bishop  how  easy  a 
thing  it  is  to  cross  the  delicate  neutral  line 
between  friendship  and  love. 

"  We  may  not  either  of  us  look  forward  to 
keeping  our  dear  girls  with  us  much  longer," 
she  murmurs,  as,  from  the  window  which  is 
farthest  from  Lady  St.  Just,  the  Bishop  and 
herself  watch  the  four  young  people  turn  the 
corner  to  the  river. 

"  And  we  must  prepare  to  part  with  them 
cheerfully,  if  it  is  for  their  happiness  that 
they  should  go,"  the  Bishop  says,  heartily. 
To  do  him  justice  he  has  been  quite  ready  to 
part  with  his  Fanny  any  day  during  the  last 
ten  years.  At  some  periods,  when  her  yoke  is 
heavy,  it  occurs  to  him  to  feel  that  the  time  is 
long  in  getting  ripe  for  her  flight  from  the 
paternal  roof. 

"  Ah !  yes !  our  love  for  them  will  make 
us  seem  cheerfully  resigned,"  the  fair,  bright 
little  widow  says,  with  a  mixture  of  sparkle 


Mother  and  Daughter. 


and  pathos,  that  calls  his  attention  to  the 
sweet  blue  of  her  eyes,  and  the  exquisite 
tenderness  of  her  heart  at  the  same  moment ; 
"  but  we  shall  both  be  very  dull  and  desolate 
in  our  respective  homes.  When  Fanny  goes, 
and  I'm  sure  it  will  not  be  Mr.  Grove's  fault 
if  she  does  not  go  soon,  yours  will  be  a  very 
solitary  life,  though  you  will  live  it  in  a 
Palace,  my  friend  !  " 

"Do  you  think  that  Grove  thinks  of  this 
still  ?  At  one  time  I  fancied  that  affection 
was  springing  up  between  them,  but  lately  I 
have  thouo-ht  there  was  a  certain  stiffness  and 

o 

want  of  cordiality  towards  him  on  Fanny's 
part." 

Mrs  Heatherley's  eyes  sparkle  more  than 
ever,  as  she  reflects,  that  the  real  cause  of 
the  change  in  Fanny  has  been  the  latter's 
presumptuous  desire  to  dispute  the  "  big- 
game" — Lord  Kenmare — with  Ethel.  But 
she  merely  says — 

"  Trust  me  for  reading  these  riddles  aright. 
I  am  almost  as  sure  that  your  daughter 
will  be  Mrs.  Grove  as  I  am  that  mine  will 
be  Lady  Kenmare." 


134  AUerton  Towers. 

The  Bishop  pricks  up  his  ears.  Good  man 
as  he  is,  he  is  ahve  to  the  value  of  a  good 
worldly  connection,  and  if  Mrs.  Heatherley  is 
to  be  the  mother  of  Lady  Kenmare,  and  by- 
and-bye,  of  the  Marchioness  of  Monkstown, 
who  so  well  fitted  as  the  attractive  little 
widow  to  be  the  Bishop's  wife,  and  the 
enhvener  of  his  solitude. 

"  I  shall  give  Fanny  to  Grove  with  great 
satisfaction ;  he  will  rise  on  his  own  merits, 
for,  quite  independently  of  his  having  any 
family  claim  upon  me,  I  shall  feel  it  my  duty 
to  give  him  good  preferment ;  but  as  you  say 
I  shall  be  a  very  solitary  man  when  I  lose  my 
daughter,  and  you !  " 

He  pauses,  and  his  silence  is  so  eloquent 
that  Mrs.  Heatherley  turns  her  face  coyly 
away  as   she  rej^lies — 

"  I  suppose  rigid  Mrs.  Grundy  will  de- 
nounce me  if  1  venture  to  go  to  the  Palace 
to  talk  over  these  hapjjy  days  that  we  are 
spending  together  !  Days  that  unfortunately 
are  only  too  short,  and  too  nearly  at  an  end." 

"  Mrs  Grundy  will  never  dare  to  asperse 
you  while  I  live,  dear  lady." 


Mother  and  Daughter.  135 

"  All!  my  dear  lord,  you  forget  that  I  am 
not  so  very  old  a  woman  that  you,  an  attrac- 
tive man,  may  dare  to  be  kmd  to  me  without 
calling  forth  comment— and  '  malignity  :  yet 
though  I  shall  be  too  cowardl}^  ever  to  do  it, 
I  will  dare  to  paint  a  picture  of  cosy  hours 
spent  with  you  in  that  grand  library — of 
sunny  hours  in  your  lovely  grounds — of  long 
delightful  readings.  I  take  such  a  deep, 
unceasing  interest  in  politics,  that  when  you 
have  the  gout  I  muM  come  and  read  the  de- 
bates to  you " 

"  I  will  not  have  you  contemplate  that 
contingency  only,"  the  Bishop  says,  feeling 
almost  young  and  debonair,  as  Mrs.  Heath- 
eriey's  facile  mental  brush  puts  in  the  lights 
and  shades  of  these  pleasantly-pictured  possi- 
bihties.  But,  though  he  says  this,  a  vision 
of  himself  prostrate  and  in  pain,  without  the 
presence  of  this  most  soothing  woman,  rises 
before  him  and  pleads  for  her  ! 

She  lias  precise!}-  the  voice  for  reading 
aloud  —clear,  sweet,  and  not  too  rapid. 
She  is  well  off,  too,  and  will  not  limit  the 
hospitalities    of    the   Palace   severel}',    as    liis 


136  Allerton  Towers. 

daughter  has  done  at  times.  If  he  must 
lose  Fanny  for  Fanny's  good,  -^ho  can 
blame  him  for  seeking  the  constant  com- 
panionship of  a  mind  and  heart-stirring 
woman,  in  the  most  unexceptionable  way  ? 
It  is  not  good  for  bishops  to  live  alone, 
more  than  any  other  man !  She  will  be 
essentially  the  right  woman  in  the  right 
place — averse  to  frivolous  gaiety,  and  ad- 
mirably contented  with  cosy  hours  with 
him  in  the  library,  and  political  readings 
by  his  couch  of  pain. 

"  I  will  not  have  you  contemplate  the 
contingency  of  my  illness  only ;  with  you 
by  my  side,  constantly,  I  should  be  happier 
and,  therefore,  healthier  probably,  than  I 
have  been  since  the  death  of  my — I  mean 
since  I  have  lived  a  sedentary  and  secluded 
life.  The  responsibilities  of  the  position  I 
venture  to  offer  you  are  many,"  the  Bishop 
goes  on,  with  unconscious  pomposity.  "  Its 
worldly  gaieties  are  of  necessity  few ;  but 
your  place  will  be  a  high  one ;  a  fierce 
light  will  shine  upon  you,  and  I  feel  sure 
you  will    bear    it   bravely." 


Mother  and  Dauyhter.  137 

He  pauses,  his  eloquence  checked  by  an 
unUmely  remembrance  of  his  daughter,  and 
of  the  wrath  that  young  lady  will  feel  and 
display  when  she  hears  of  what  he  has  been 
about  in  her  absence.  But  Mrs.  Heatherley 
fills    the   pause   graciously. 

"I  won't  aflect  to  misunderstand  you,"  she 
says,  with  an  amount  of  womanly  self- 
possession  and  frankness  that  is  rather 
embarrassing  to  him  for  a  moment,  for  Lady 
ISt.  Just  is  giving  signs  of  waking,  and  he 
feels  that  this  vital  matter  is  to  be  clinched 
in  her  presence. 

"  1  won't  aflect  to  misunderstand  you,  my 
lord,  and  I  accept  the  honour  you  have  done 
me  with  the  more  readiness,  because  I  feel 
that  I  shall  fill  the  position  of  your  wife  in  a 
way  that  will  redound  to  yoivr  credit,  as  it 
shall    redound   to   my  own." 

"  kShe  strikes  the  key-note  of  the  tune  to 
which  she  means  to  set  our  altered  lives  in 
that  speech,"  the  Bishop  says  to  himself,  in  a 
little  spasm  of  alarm  at  the  boldness  and 
irretrievabihty  of  the  step  he  has  taken. 
And  he  is  right ;  Mrs.  Heatherley  has  taken 


138  Allerton  Towers. 

the  reins  into  her  own  fair,  firm  little 
hands,  and  will  drive  the  episcopal  chariot 
where  and  how  she  pleases  from  this  day 
forth. 

The  matter  is  all  settled,  and  he  is  receiving- 
Lady  St,  Just's  congratulations  before  he  has 
quite  decided  in  his  own  mind  w^hether  or  not 
he  has  asked  this  woman  to  be  his  wife ! 
Then,  in  a  few  minutes,  his  daughter  and  his 
chaplain  come  in,  and  he  is  observing  with 
alarm  that  Fanny's  brow  is  ominously 
clouded,  and  her  lips  pressed  alarmingly 
together.  Mrs.  Heatherley  burns  his  boats 
behind  him    by  saying,   playfully- — 

"  Tell  my  new  daughter  that  I  am  going 
to  try  and  fill  the  place  she  has  adorned  so 
long,  and  to  share  her  care  of  you.''' 

To  which  Miss  Templeton  replies,  unpro- 
pitiously, "  Papa  will  never  waste  his  time 
in  trying  to  make  me  believe  such  an 
utterly  incredible  thing,  Mrs.  Heatherley." 
At  which  display  of  temper  the  pretty  widow, 
who  has  won  the  game,  and  who  can, 
therefore,  afibrd  to  be  affable  and  forgiv- 
ing, smiles  her    sunniest    smile,    and    putting 


Mother  and  Daughter.  139 

her  gentle  powerful  little  paw  on  her  al- 
ready-tamed  Bishop,    says  : 

"I  hope,  dear,  that  my  child  will  accord 
you  a  warmer  welcome  into  her  family 
than  your  daughter  accords  me  into  yours. 
If  you  can't  give  me  a  daughter's  affection, 
Fanny,  I  hope  at  least  you  will  t^ive  me  a 
sister's  sympathy,"  she  continues,  so  sweetly, 
that  Fanny  feels  it  will  be  impolitic  to  ex- 
hibit resentment  at  the  allusion  to  her 
having    passed    girlhood. 

"  Papa's  wife  will  not  stand  in  need  of 
sympathy  from  me,"'  she  says,  brusquely, 
and  Mrs.  Heatherley  passes  by  the  obser- 
vation with  magnanimous  unconcern,  feel- 
ing sure  that  she  is  not  the  only  bitter 
drop    in   Fanny's    cup    at   present. 

"  Allow  me  to  offer  you  my  heartiest 
congratulations  and  warmest  hopes  for 
your  happiness,"  Mr.  Grove  says,  with  a 
bold  acceptance  of  the  situation  that  en- 
ables   the   Bishop    to    hold    up    his    head. 

Mrs.  Heatherley  rewards  the  speaker  at 
once. 

"  And  allow  me  to  say  tliat  I  hope  you  will 


140  Allerton  Towers. 


be  very,  very  often  at  the  Palace  to  witness 
that  happiness,  Mr.  Grove,  when  you  can 
spare  the  time  from  the  prettiest  rectory 
and   parish    in    the   Bishop's   gift " 

"  Livings  are  in  papas  gift,  not  yours 
yet^''  Miss  Templeton  interrupts. 

"  But  he  shall  not  stray  about  among  the 
vacant  ones  in  solitude  and  uncertainty  as  to 
whom  he  shall  bestow  them  on  any  longer," 
Mrs.  Heatherley  says,  caressingly.  "  I  mean 
to  take  the  greatest  interest  in  everything  you 
do  and  think  of  doing,  dear,"  she  continues, 
and  the  Bishop  smiles  feebly,  but  withal 
sullenly.  To  be  called  "  dear,"  and  openly 
comforted,  was  not  in  the  agreement  he 
made  with  himself  about  the  terms  he  would 
make  with  Mrs.  Heatherley.  However,  he 
keeps  silence,  for  to  protest  or  rebuke,  and 
fail  to  subdue,  would  be  fatal,  indeed,  just 
now. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  shall  not  be  in  the  way  of 
benefiting  by  your  patronage,"  Mr.  Grove 
says,  blithely  and  frankly.  He  is  not  dis- 
pleased with  Mrs.  Heatherley  for  the  tone 
she  has  taken — he  will  be  out  of  the  diocese 


Mother  and  Daughter.  141 

soon ;  this,  for  one  thing,  and,  for  another, 
her  rule  is,  or  will  be,  a  more  graceful  one 
than  Fanny's  has  been.  Nevertheless,  he  is 
sorry  for  Fanny,  and,  if  it  were  possible,  he 
would  go  back  to  his  old  ground  with  her, 
and  remove  her  from  the  humiliations  to 
come. 

But  it  is  not  possible  !  He  had  never  been 
"  in  love  "  with  her,  and  now  he  was  quite  out 
of  the  habit  of  her ;  and  this  he  had  given 
her  to  understand  fully  and  clearly  during 
the  last  ten  minutes  which  they  spent  alone 
together  in  walking;  up  from  the  river. 

But  he  had  done  this  with  courtesy  and 
consideration ;  allowing  her  to  suppose  that 
the  change  in  him  had  been  wrought  by  her- 
self, sparing  her  all  the  mortification  that  is 
possible,  by  his  manner  of  suggesting  that  he 
has  believed  it  to  be  her  desire  to  alienate 
him. 

Thus,  on  the  surface,  her  pride  is  spared, 
though  in  her  heart  she  knows  well  that  his 
regard  for  her  could  never  have  been  as 
strong  as  she  thought  it,  since  it  has  been 
so  easily  killed. 


142  Allerton  Towers. 

Nevertheless,  this  tone,  which  he  has 
chivalrously  taken,  will  make  the  task  which 
is  before  her — -of  accounting  for  its  being  all 
over  between  them — a  far  easier  one  than  it 
would  have  been  had  Mr.  Grove  simply 
backed  out  of  the  semi-entanglement  without 
this  flattering  explanation. 

Fanny  has  a  keen  recollection  of  having 
given  all  and  sundry  of  her  lady  friends  and 
acquaintances  to  understand  that  it  rests 
with  herself  to  convert  the  bachelor  chaplain 
into  the  Bishop's  son-in-law,  any  day  she 
pleases.  She  has  even  gone  so  far,  in 
moments  of  elation,  as  to  hint  that  his 
pertinacity  and  jealousy  have  been  the 
winning  powers  that  have  moved  her,  and 
to  imply  that  he  had  to  fight  hard  and 
humbly  for  the  victory  which  he  has  finally 
attained  over  her  virgin  heart.  She  knows 
well  that  these  hints  and  su^o-estions  will  be 
remembered  against  her  when  Mr.  Grove 
openly  resigns  her  and  the  chaplaincy,  and 
goes  off  without  any  visible  mark  of  having 
suffered  in  the  conflict,  upon  him.  There  will 
be  many  to  say  tliat  she  has  deluded  herself 


Mother  and  Daughter.  148 


all  along,  and  that  the  love-passages  which 
she  has  prettily  confessed,  have  been  purely 
imaginary. 

By-and-bye  Ethel  and  Lord  Kenmare  come 
in,  and  Mrs.  Heatherley  is  disappointed  at  the 
first  glance.  Kenmare  looks  dispirited,  and 
Ethel  is  flushed  and  distressed  in  appearance. 
The  girl's  first  words,  too,  prove  that  golden 
as  the  opportunity  by  the  moonlighted  river 
has  been,  the  young  people  have  not  made  the 
most  of  it,  as  Nature  and  Providence  seemed 
to  design,  by  getting  engaged. 

"  Mother,  I  want  to  go  home  to-morrow 
instead  of  going  to  Boyne  Gate ;  no.  Lady 
St.  Just,  don't  say  that  I'm  tired  of  you,  and 
don't  be  angry  with  me ;  I  can't  be  happy 
until  I  know  why  Walter  GifFord  seems  to 
have  foro'otten  me." 

"  You're  not  weak  enough  to  waste  a 
thous^ht  about  a  man  who  even  seems  to 
have  forgotten  you,  I  hope,"  her  mother 
says,  coldly,  and  the  flush  deepens  on  Ethel's 
brilliant  face  as  she  answers: 

"  Yes,  I  am  ;  for  I  know  it's  only  seeming." 

"  Mr.    Giflbrd    must    be    unlike    any    other 


144  Allerton  Towers. 


fellow  in  the  world  if  he  could  forget 
Miss  Heatherley,"  Lord  Kenmare  says,  with  a 
gallant  effort,  "though  I  wish,  with  all  my 
heart,  you  could  forget  him,"  he  adds,  in  a 
low  tone,  to  Ethel. 

"  Perhaps  I  wish  it,  too,"  she  murmurs,  for 
the  pertinacious  young  lover  who  is  present 
does  contrast  favourably  just  now  with  the 
apparently  negligent  one  who  is  absent.  And 
on  the  strength  of  these  words,  uttered  partly 
in  pique  and  partly  in  idleness.  Lord  Kenmare 
determines  to  persist  in  his  suit,  and  to  finally 
win  both  Ethel  and  his  father  to  regard  it 
favourably. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  in  my  room  to- 
night, Ethel,"  Mrs.  Heatherley  says,  rising  up 
and  silently  extending  her  hand  to  the  Bishop, 
who  takes  it  and  retains  it  lonof  enough  to 
give  Ethel  time  to  see  that  something  has  hap- 
pened between  her  mother  and  the  Bishop. 
Then  the  newly-betrothed  pair  separate,  and 
the  Bishop  says  good-night  to  Ethel  in  a  pater- 
nal and  benedictory  way  that  informs  her  of 
the  truth,  before  her  mother  can  word  it 
touchingly  and  gracefully. 


Mother  and  Daughter.  145 

"Mother,"  the  girl  begins,  as  soon  as  she 
gets  into  her  mother's  room,  "  what  is  it  ? 
what  does  it  mean  ?  The  Bishop  patted  my 
head  as  if  I  had  been  a  little  child,  and 
Fanny  glared  at  me  as  if  I  had  wanted  him 
to  do  it — what  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  Before  I  tell  you  that,  tell  me  ichat  you 
mean  by  making  a  scene  about  Mr.  Gifford," 
Mrs.  Heatherley  says,  reproachfully. 

Ethel's  arms  are  round  her  mother's 
neck  in  a  moment.  The  girl  wants  to  be 
strengthened  and  supported  in  her  inten- 
tion of  being  leal  to  her  absent  lover. 
She  is  made  of  the  stuff  to  hate  herself  if 
she  does  eventually  fall  away  from  her  freely 
given  promise  to  marry  Walter  Gifford  by- 
and-bye.  Yet,  all  the  while  she  feels  that 
Lord  Kenmare,  with  his  warmly-proffered 
love,  his  great  personal  beauty,  and  his  win- 
ning way,  is  a  great  temptation   to   her. 

"  Oh,  mother !  say  something  kind  of 
Walter;  help  me  to  keep  on  loving  him 
best,"  she  pleads,  with  her  arms  clinging 
closely   round    her    mother's    neck. 

"My    dear    Ethel,  nonsense!     Mr.   Gifford 


146  Allerton  Towers. 


is  showing  plainly  that  he  can  resign  you, 
and  it  is  your  duty  to  me  and  to  yourself 
to  recrard  your  eno-acfement  with  him  as  at 
an  end.  I  am  not  going  to  say  anything 
to  you  about  Lord  Kenmare  more  than 
this :  that  his  preference  for  you  demands 
this  return — that  you  do  nothing  hastily  ; 
it  would  grieve  the  Bishop — to  say  nothing 
of  myself — if  you  raise  any  objection  to 
going   to   Boyne   Gate. 

"  The  Bishop  has  nothing  to  do  with  me, 
and  if  I  do  what  I  think  right  I  don't 
care  whether   he's  grieved  or  not." 

"The  Bishop's  wishes  are  paramount  with 
me ;  in  running  counter  to  his  desire  for 
your  welfare,  you  will  be  directly  opposing 
me — your   mother  !  " 

"  Oh,  Mother !  dont  bring  him  in  between 
us,"  Ethel  says,  tempestuously.  "What  can 
it  be  to  him  whether  I  go  to  Boyne  Gate, 
or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  whether  I  ever 
speak  to  Lord  Kenmare  again?" 

"The  Bishop  does  me  honour  in  proposing 
to  become  my  husband,  and  he  does  you 
honour,  Ethel,  in  proposing  to  treat   you  as 


Mother  and  Daughter.  147 

his  own  daughter,"'  Mrs.  Heatherley  says, 
■with  the  air  of  patient  sweetness  that  she 
has  invariably  found  useful  in  the  subjuga- 
tion of  Ethel. 

"  Mother,  dear,  let  him  do  you  all  the 
honour  he  can — he  can't  shoAv  you  too  much 
homage  for  your  goodness  in  giving  your 
darling,  pretty  self  to  his  service ;  but  don't 
let  him  try  to  '  befather  '  me ;  if  he  wants 
Lord  Kenmare  in  the  family  for  his  own 
honour  and  glory's  sake,  let  him  marry 
Kenmare  to  Fanny." 

"  You  were  never  a  silly  child,  Ethel, 
always  my  brightest  and  best  companion ; 
don't  be  a  silly  girl !  "  and  with  these  words 
Mrs.  Heatherley  dismisses  her  daughter  with 
a  kiss,  and  proceeds  to  write  an  autumn 
programme  for  herself. 

"  Let  me  see !  "  she  says,  meditatively 
pausing,  pen  in  hand,  for  a  minute  or  two  ; 
"  a  fortnight  at  Boyne  Gate  will  bring  us 
to  the  middle  of  September ;  by  that  time 
Ethel  will  be  settled — the  child  is  too 
sensible  to  continue  contumacious,  and 
Kenmare    is    too    fascinating   to   be  resisted 

L  2 


148 


AUert(?n  Towers. 


long.  Then  home  for  a  month  of  prepara- 
tion !  The  weddings  shall  be  the  third 
week  in  October,  and  before  I  sleep  I'll 
write  to    Worth    about   the    dresses." 


CHAPTEE  IX. 


SISTERLY     ZEAL. 


■■■^^(LL  the  place  is  talking   about    it,  so 


0m^  it  must  be  true,"  Miss  Gifford 
says,  angrily  and  conclusively,  to  her  brother, 
when  he  disputes  her  assertion  that  there  is  to 
be  a  double  wedding  at  the  cottage  soon, 
wdien  Mrs.  Heatherley  will  take  the  Bishop  to 
honour  and  obey  her,  and  her  daughter 
will   marry  Lord   Kenmare. 

"  Lily  and  I  have  been  in  at  Turner's," 
Miss  Giiford  continues,  animatedly,  "  and 
they  showed  us  the  order  for  the  costumes, 
eight  for  Mrs.  Heatherley,  and  eight  for 
Miss  Heatherley.  The  bridal  dresses  are 
coming  from  Paris,  Mrs.  Turner  says,  but 
there  is  no  doubt  about  these  eight  a-piece 
being  trousseau  dresses,  and  so,  naturally, 
there  is  no  doubt  about  Miss  Heatherley 
going   to    marry   Lord    Kenmare." 

"I   will,  not    believe    it  j^et,"   Mr.    Gifibrd 


150  Allerton    Towers. 

says,  stoutly ;  but  it  vexes  him  to*  see  that 
his  sister  and  her  friend  exchange  smiles 
that  seem  fraught  with  pity  for  his  con- 
temptible   blindness. 

"  I  would  not  believe  it — yet,"  Lily  Somer- 
set says,  quietly.  "  I  would  wait  on  in  patient 
endurance  until  the  wedding-day,  and  all 
doubt  is  over,  if  I  were  a  man  and  in  your 
place.  I  would  give  the  woman  I  loved  all 
the  satisfaction  and  honour  and  glory  I  could. 
I  would  not  give  her  indifference  for  indif- 
ference, scorn  for  scorn  ;  I  would  show  her 
that  I  was  the  real  '  gentle  tassel,'  ready  to 
be  whistled  back  again  at  any  moment. 
But  when  I  had  done  all  this,  and  been  re- 
quited by  her  according  to  my  deserts,  I 
would  never  dare  to  ask  another  woman  to 
love  me." 

Walter  Gifford  strokes  his  moustache, 
meditatively,  as  he  listens  to  this  harangue, 
which  Miss  Somerset  delivers  with  the  most 
absolute  composure,  in  silvery,  unruffled 
accents. 

"  I  am  never  likely  to  ask  another  woman 
to   love    me,"   he    says,  presently,   and    Lily 


Sisterly  Zeal.  151 

nods  her  head  at  him  in  an  approving  way 
that  provokes  rather  than  soothes  him. 

"  Of  course,  you  are  not  likely  to  do  it ; 
it  wiU  be  only  due  to  Lady  Kenmare  to  show 
her  that  where  she  has  ruthlessly  wounded 
no  other  can  heal.  And  what  an  amusing 
story  Mrs.  Templeton  will  make  out  of  your 
fidelity  to  her  beautiful  daughter ;  you'll  be 
the  topic  at  the  Bishop's  dinners  and  the 
Bishopess's  garden-parties  for  a  time ;  and  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  the  fact  of  your  wearing 
the  willow  publicly  increased  your  practice 
considerably.  I  hope  it  will,  I  am  sure,  for 
the  law  of  compensation  ought  to  work  in 
some  way." 

"  It  is  working  already,"  he  says,  trying 
to  speak  gaily ;  "  it  is  making  you  think 
about  me,  and  talk  to  me  more  than  you 
have  for  years." 

They  are  sitting  in  the  rafter-roofed,  old- 
world  sitting-room  at  the  Uplands ;  it  is  easy 
for  Miss  Gifford  to  slip  out  of  the  room  at 
this  juncture  without  distracting  their  atten- 
tion, or  in  any  way  disturbing  them.  The 
daylight   is  waning,    and  the   moon    has  not 


152  Allerton  Towers. 


risen  yet.  From  their  seats  in  the  wide 
window-recess,  the  old-fashioned  garden,  in 
which  pear  and  apple  trees  are  mixed  up  in 
picturesque  confusion  with  tall  hollyhocks 
and  sun-flowers,  and  feathery  plants  of 
waving  asparagus  that  has  gone  luxuriantly 
to  seed,  looks  quaint  and  attractive.  Just 
under  the  window  a  mass  of  lemon-thyme 
and  mint  surrounds  a  few  sweet-scented 
bushes  of  late-flowering;  roses.  Altogether 
there  is  a  softening,  subduing  influence  in  the 
beauty  and  the  perfume  that  permeates  the 
atmosphere.  And  Walter  Giffbrd,  wearied 
as  he  is  by  a  hard  day's  work,  and  many 
conflicting  emotions  about  his  absent  Ethel, 
feels  that  it  is  pleasant  to  look  upon  so  fair 
a  scene  with  such  a  sympathetic  companion. 

Pleasant  but  dangerous,  as  Lily  droops 
the  face  that  is  as  fair  as  her  name  with 
languid  tenderness  towards  him,  and  murmurs 
in   reply — 

"  Does  it  please  you  that  I  should  show  the 
interest  I  have  never  ceased  to  feel  in  you  by 
saying  bitter  things  of  the  girl  who  has  won 
your  love  only  to  throw  it  away  like  an  old 


Sisterly  Zeal.  1 53 

glove  ?  Oh !  I  am  vexed  with  myself  for 
having  been  so  weak  as  to  give  you  such  an 
occasion  for   triumphing    over   me." 

"  Heaven  knows  I  have  never  felt  trium- 
phant where  you  have  been  concerned,"  he 
says,  moodily  ;  "  and  even  now  I  know  that 
you  only  portray  interest  in  me  as  you  gather 
flowers — to  please  yourself  for  the  moment." 

"  Walter,  you  wrong  me,  indeed  you  do,  in 
thinking  so  of  me  now ;  there  was  a  time 
when  I  did  not  appreciate  you,  a  time  when 
in  my  egotism  I  told  you  so  for  granted  that 
1  did  not  think  it  possible  to  wear  out  your 
regard  by  my  caprices ;  but  you  taught  me  a 
sharp  lesson,  and  I  have  learnt  it  well ;  you 
can't  forgive,  any  more  than  I  can  forget." 

"  I  forgave  you  all  the  pain  you  made  me 
suffer  long  ago,"  he  says,  frankly;  "but  you 
are  right  in  hinting  that  I  can't  reconstruct 
the  old  romance;  you  wouldn't  be  happy  if  I 
attempted  to  do  it ;  you  would  feel  naturally 
that  you  deserved  more  than  grateful  friend- 
ship, which  is  all  that  I  can  ever  offer  you." 

" If  Ethel  Heatherley  had  never  existed 

you  would  be  more  forgiving  to  me  I  " 


I  54  Alter  ton  Towers. 


"  You  shall  not  speak  of  forgiveness ;  you 
broke  the  chain  of  feeling  which  once  bound 
us  together,  yourself;  I  haven't  the  power 
of  re-uniting  the  links,  that  is  all.  Perhaps  if 
Ethel  Heatherley  had  never  existed  I  should 
have  carried  ray  end  of  the  chain  up  to  this 
present  day ;    as   it   is " 

"  She  will  cease  to  exist  for  you  when  she 
becomes  Lady  Kenmare  ?  " 

"  She  will — God  bless  her !  but  she  is  not 
Lady  Kenmare  yet,  nor  will  she  ever  be,"  he 
says,  heartily,  gathering  fresh  faith  in  Ethel 
from  the  force  of  his  own  words. 

Lily  leans  through  the  open  window  and 
gathers  a  sprig  of  something  at  random.  It 
happens  to  be  mint,  and  as  she  presses  it  and 
smells  it,  and  then  hands  it  to  him,  she  says, 
prosaically,  and  as  if  the  preceding  conversa- 
tion had  not  been  one  of  vital  interest  to 
her,  "  We  shall  always  think  of  each  other 
and  of  what  we  have  been  saying  in  future 
Avhen  we  see  roast  lamb  and  mint  sauce, 
shan't  we?  shockingly  commonplace,  isn't 
it  ?  but  so  true^  and  we  both  like  truth." 

Then  she  rises  from   the  window,  and  iroes 


Sisterly  Zeal.  155 

back  to  a  corner  in  the  room  where  an  old 
piano  stands,  and,  sitting  down  to  it,  she 
begins  to  sini^  "  In  the  Gloamino-."' 

As  her  soul-fraiight  voice  gives  power  and- 
pathos  to  the  song,  which  in  itself  is  mere 
prettiness,  Mr.  GilTord,  who  has  borne  him- 
self bravely  in  the  battle  up  to  this  point, 
feels  that  he  is  vulnerable  after  all.  Why, 
if  Ethel  is  false,  should  "  what  has  been " 
with  Lily  "  never  be  again  ?  " 

"  To  love  is  best,  but  to  be  loved  is  good," 
he  tells  himself,  and  there  is  something  of 
this  sentiment  expressed  in  the  way  he  holds 
Lily  Somerset's  hand  when  he  says  good- 
night to  her, 

"Well!"  Mabel,  the  over-anxious  sister,  asks 
eagerly,  as  she  comes  back  to  the  room  after 
accompanying  her  brother  to  the  garden  gate, 
"  Well,  how  are  you  and  Walter  getting  on  ?  " 

"  We  shall  get  on  better  when  Miss 
Heatherley  is  married.'" 

"  It's  tame  of  Walter  to  wait  till  all  the 
world  has  seen  that  she  has  thrown  him 
over,"  Miss  Gifford  says,  indignantly,  and 
forthwith    she    determines    to    do   something 


156  Allerton  Tower.'^^ 


rather  desperate,  for  the  sake  of  what  she 
deems  the  honour,  and  dignity,  and  happi- 
ness of  her  brother. 

Miss  Gifford  does  not  hold  the  pen  of 
a  ready  writer,  therefore  her  self-appointed 
task  is  a  laborious  one,  and  occupies  her 
well-nigh  through  all  the  hours  of  the  night. 
Weariness  and  sleepiness  is  her  portion  in 
the  morning,  but  she  gets  up  bravely  and 
waits  upon  Lily  Somerset  as  assiduously  as 
ever,  for  she  has  upon  her  the  pleasing  con- 
sciousness of  having  done  a  good  work 
for  her  brother. 

This  "  good  work  "  goes  forth  by  the  mid- 
day post  from  Allerton  Towers  in  the  guise 
of  a  letter  to  Miss  Heatherley,  whose  address 
the  devoted  sister  has  procured,  at  the 
cost  of  a  considerable  amount  of  speciously 
worded  enquiry,  from  the  head  milliner  at 
Turner's  shop,  and  Ethel  receives  it  three  or 
four  days  after  her  arrival  at  Boyne  Gate. 

It  is  as  follows : — 
"  Dear  Madam, — 

"  I  must  begin  by  offering  you  a  pro- 
found  apology   for    the   liberty    which    1,    a 


Sisterly  Zeal  157 

stranger,  take  in  addressing  you  at  all. 
Xothini:^  but  the  earnest  desire  I  have  to  see 
the  welfare  and  happiness  of  my  dear  brother 
secured  could  excuse  this  conduct,  even  in 
my  own  eyes. 

"A  rumour  has  reached  us  that  you  are 
about  to  make  a  brilliant  marriage  very 
shortly,  but  my  brother  refuses  to  accept  the 
release  from  his  engagement  to  you  until  he 
hears  from  you  that  he  may  take  his  freedom 
honourably.  My  reason  for  hoping  that  you 
will  act  thus  generously  is,  that  I  have  good 
reason  to  know  that  my  brother  would  find 
happiness  with  another,  if  it  were  not  for  his 
scruples  concerning  you ;  and  I  am  sure, 
from  what  I  have  heard  of  your  nobility  of 
character,  you  would  not  wish  to  stand  in 
his  way  now  that  you  have  preferred  another 
to  him. 

"  My  brother  is  not  aware  of  my  intention 
of  writing  to  you,  nor  do  I  wish  him  to 
know  it,  as,  unless  he  feels  that  your  action 
is  spontaneous,  and  not  the  result  of  inter- 
ference, he  may  refuse  to  be  influenced  by  it. 

"  In    conclusion,  my  dear  young  lady,  let 


158  Allerton  Toicers. 


me  j)ray  you  again  to  pardon  this  bold  act 
of  mine,  and  to  believe  that  I  am  actuated 
solely  by  my  affection  for  my  brother,  and 
my  heartfelt  belief  that  what  I  ask  you  to 
do  will  enable  him  to  become  a  happy  and 
wealthy  man. 

"  I  am,  dear  Madam, 

"  Eespectfully  yours, 

"Mabel   Gifford." 

Happily  for  herself,  Ethel  is  alone  when 
she  receives  this  extraordinary  epistle.  Her 
first  indignant  impulse  upon  reading  it,  is 
to  enclose  it  to  Walter,  without  a  word.  Her 
next  is  to  write  to  him,  asking,  "  if  it  can  be 
true  that  he  is  not  only  willing  to  let  her  go, 
but  ready  to  console  himself  with  '  another,' 
as  his  sister  puts  it  ?  "  This  is  the  reasonable 
and  right  impulse !  Unfortunately,  however, 
Ethel  does  not  act  upon  it,  but  reads  the 
letter  over  again  and  again,  until  her  whole 
soul  is  filled  with  anger  and  mortification,  and 
while  this  last  and  worst  mood  is  upon  her 
she  writes  to  Walter — 

"  Do  not  let  any  further  thought  of  me 
weigh   with    you    for    a    moment    longer.     I 


Sisterly  Zeal.  159 

have  gone  out  of  your  life  for  ever !  and 
I  can  only  hope  that  you  Avill  seek  happi- 
ness where  you  can  find  it,  and  as  soon  as 
possible  forget  that  Ethel  Heatherley  ever 
existed."  ' 

"Mother,"  she  says,  an  hour  or  two  after- 
wards, coming  upon  that  lady  and  the  Bishop 
in  one  of  the  many  sequestered  walks  that 
intersect  the  Boyne  Gate  grounds,  "  I  have 
something  to  tell  you." 

The  girl  turns  into  a  side  path,  and  looks 
as  if  she  expected  her  mother  to  follow  her. 
But  Mrs.  Heatherley  is  indisposed  to  do  any- 
thing that  may  look  like  independent  action 
in   the   eyes    of    the    Bishop. 

"You  may  feel  sure  that  the  Bishop  will 
listen  with  glad  interest  to  anythino-  that  con- 
cerns you,  dear,"  she  says,  witli  her  freshest, 
youngest  air  of  innocent  reliance  on  the 
Bishop's  affections ;  but  Ethel  is  in  the 
wrong  mood  to  return  her  mother's  fascin- 
ating lead. 

"If  you  won't  come  and  hear  my  news, 
mother,  I  will  keep  it  for  a  more  convenient 
season,"  the  disappointed  daughter  says,  with 


160  Allerton  Towers. 


a  catch  in  her  voice  that  appeals  to  so  much 
as  is  motherly  in  the  vain  little  widow's  heart. 

"  Spare  me  for  a  few  moments,  will  you  ?  " 
she  says,  coquettishly ;  "  my  child  is  a  little 
tiny  bit  jealous  of  the  time  I  give  to  you,  I'm 
afraid  ; "  then  she  adds  in  a  whisper,  "  she 
reveres  you  too  much  to  speak  familiarly 
before  you  yet,  but  love  will  soon  cast  out 
fear  when    you    are    her  father." 

"  Very  proper,  nice  feeling  on  her  part,  I 
am  sure,"  the  Bishop  says,  benignly.  To 
tell  the  truth,  reverence  is  not  precisely 
the  sentiment  with  which  he  himself  fancies 
he  has  inspired  his  pretty  widow's  handsome 
daughter.  Nor,  indeed,  to  do  him  justice, 
does  he  desire  to  insist  upon  a  display  of 
filial  feeling  from  the  young  lady.  But, 
for  the  future,  his  ways  and  wishes  will  be 
moulded  and  guided  by  a  stronger  hand 
than  his  own,  and,  like  a  man,  he  prepares 
to  bow  to  the  inevitable. 

So  Mrs.  Heatherley  trips  along  after 
Ethel,  who  walks  rapidly  to  a  recess  in 
the  high  laurel  hedge,  where  she  stops,  and 
begins  at  once — 


Sisterly  Zeal.  161 


"  I  have  broken  off  my  engagement  with 
Walter  Gilford  to-day,  mother ;  don't  ask 
me  why  I  have  done  it,  and  don't  build 
any  fallacious  hopes  upon  it.  I  have  done 
it!  and  I'm  more  unhappy  than  I  ever 
thought  it  possible  I  could  be ;  but  I  don't 
want  to  go  back  to  AUerton  Towers.  I 
would  rather  go  away  where  no  one  will 
over  speculate  about  me  and  my  lost  hap- 
piness." 

"  My  darling,  you  will  be  rewarded  for 
this  obedience  to  my  wishes,  and  to  the 
dictates  of  common  sense,  by  meeting  with 
one  who  will  make  yOur  lot  a  far  hap- 
pier one  than  it  could  ever  have  been  as 
Mr.  Gifford's  wife,"  Mrs.  Heatherley  says, 
rapturously ;  but  Ethel  sliakes  her  head 
and  says — 

"No,  mother,  you  will  be  burdened  with 
me  all  my  life,  or  rather  the  Bishop  will  be ; 
I  won't  let  myself  fancy  anything  so  evil 
as  that  you  will  ever  wish  me  away  from 
you." 

Again  the  maternal  instinct  is  aroused, 
and  tears  of  genuine  feeling  for  her  daughter 

VOL.    1.  M 


Ifi2  Allerton  Towers. 


well  up  into  Mrs.  Heatherley's  bright  blue 
eyes.  But  when  she  speaks  there  is  a 
nervous  quiver  in  her  voice  that  sounds 
more   like  fear  than  love. 

"  I  shall   never   know    a    moment's   peace, 
Ethel,  my  darling,  till  you  are  well  married, 
and   removed   from     the    possibility    of    any 
change  in    my   fortunes    affecting    you." 
Ethel  smiles  sadly. 

"  My  dear  little  mother,  for  your  sake  the 
Bishop  won't  grudge  me  a  corner  in  the 
Palace,  and,  if  he  does,  why  shouldn't  I 
live  on  at   the   cottage  ?  " 

"  There  are  many  reasons  why ;  but  it's 
ridiculous  to  talk  seriously  in  this  strain," 
Mrs.  Heatherley  says,  sharply ;  and  for  a  few 
moments  she  looks  quite  middle-aged  and 
haggard.  Then  with  an  effort  she  resumes 
her  youth  and  gaiety,  and  runs  back  to  the 
Bishop  as  if  her  feet  were  not  shackled, 
and  her  brow  burdened  with  a  weight  of 
secret  care. 

"  I  must  tell  you  the  good  news  at  once ; 
my  dear  child  has  made  me  quite  happy  by 
freeing  herself  from  that  foolish  entanglement 


Sisterly  Zeal.  163 

with  the  young  surgeon,"  she  says,  sliding 
her  hand  under  the  Bishop's  arm. 

"  It  was  not  a  regular  engagement,  I  un- 
derstand?"   he    asks,    and   she    tells  him — 

"  Oh,  no !  a  foolish  arrangement  between 
two  thoughtless  young  people,  of  which  I 
never  could  approve ;  his  connections  are 
not  in  our  class  of  life  at  all,  I  should  say, 
from  the  little  I  saw  of  his  sister." 

"  I  can  never  bring  myself  to  countenance 
a  breacli  of  such  a  solemn  thincr  as  a 
regular,  authorised,  sensible  engagement," 
his  lordship  says,  sternly.  Then,  having 
asserted  his  prerogative  to  judge  and  con- 
demn, he  relapses  into  affability,  and  ex- 
presses a  hope  that  Lord  Kenmare  will 
now  catch  Ethel's  heart  in  the  rebound. 

"I  shall  certainly  advise  him  to  seize  this 
golden  opportunity,"  he  says ;  and  Mrs. 
Heatherley,  who  dreads  the  effect  of  any- 
thing like  interference  on  his  part,  is  obliged 
to  entreat  him  to  observe  the  golden  rule 
of  silence  when  Ethel's  heart  affairs  are 
concerned. 

"  In   £TOod   time   it   will   all   arranije    itself, 


164  Allerton  Towers. 


I  am  sure,"  she  says,  confidently,  for  she 
does  not  dare  to  allow  herself  to  doubt 
and  fear  about  Ethel's  future.  If  her 
daughter  does  not  make  a  wealthy  marriage, 
with  a  man  who  will  for  love  of  Ethel  be 
both  liberal  and  discreet,  the  blithe  little 
widow,  who  has  always  passed  for  a 
wealthy  one  in  Allerton  Towers  society, 
will  be  poor  indeed. 

Lord  Kenmare  has  not  accompanied  them 
to  Boyne  Gate.  A  letter  from  his  father, 
peremptorily  demanding  his  son's  immediate 
presence  at  Sir  John  Hawtrey's  house  hard 
by,  has  relieved  Ethel  from  the  embarrassing 
daily  intercourse  with  the  young  man  whom 
she  has  refused  to  marry,  but  whom  slie 
likes  with  a  warmer  liking  than  she  has  for 
anyone  else  on  earth,  excepting  Walter 
Gilford ! 

She  must  not  be  thou2:ht  either  inconsistent 
or  fickle,  when  it  is  said  of  her  that  there  has 
been  so  much  sweetness  in  this  daily  inter- 
course that  she  misses  it  very  sadly  now  that  it 
is  over.  There  are  moments  when  she  longs 
for  his  presence  again,  longs  to  hear  his  ardent 


Sisterly  Zeal.    .  165 

adoriiior  words,  that  will  not  be  silenced ; 
longs  to  see  his  boyishly  frank  displayal  of 
desperate  regard  for  her  ;  longs,  in  fact,  for 
the  sight  of  "  the  only  one  who  is  true 
and  loyal  and  staunch  to  her,"  as  she  tells 
herself,  thinking  sorrowfully  of  Walter. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  life  is  not  very 
lively  at  Boyne  Gate.  Lady  St.  Just  having 
failed  in  bringing  matters  to  a  successful  issue 
between  Lord  Kenmare  and  Ethel,  and  being 
rather  annoyed  than  otherwise  at  her  old 
friend,  the  Bishop,  having  suffered  himself  to 
fall  captive  to  Mrs.  Heatherley's  bow  and 
spear,  is  rather  tired  of  this  family  party 
which  she  has  brought  upon  herself.  If 
Ethel  would  only  be  sensible,  and  accept  the 
love  that  is  offered  to  her,  Lady  St.  Just 
would  take  the  credit  of  making  the  match  to 
herself  next  season,  and  feel  pride  and  plea- 
sure. But  as  Ethel  is  contumacious,  there  is 
a  flatness  about  the  group,  which  falls  upon 
Lady  St.  Just,  who  revenges  herself  by  being 
so  depressing  that  even  the  Bishop  feels  that 
the  atmosphere  of  his  Palace  is  exhilarating 
by  comparison. 


166  Allerton  Towers. 

"  I  can't  help  thinking  that  our  friend  is 
expecting  a  fresh  relay  of  guests ;  possibly  it 
may  not  suit  her  arrangements  to  have  us 
here  any  longer,"  he  hints  to  his  bride-elect. 
But  she,  having  her  own  reasons  for  staying 
away  from  Allerton  Towers  until  her  wedding- 
day  is  near  at  hand,  tells  him  that  "  for  her 
child's  sake  she  has  resolved  to  stay  and 
meet    and   conquer  Lord  Monkstown." 

It  is  a  little  thing  to  Mrs.  Heatherley,  who 
has  large  things  at  stake,  that  her  august 
hostess  should  be  obviously  tired  of  her  and 
her   future    spouse. 

"  He  is  heavy,  deadly  heavy,  when  he 
emerges  from  the  cloudy  splendour  of  bishop- 
hood,  and  becomes  a  mere  man,  affecting 
harmless  sprightliness,"  Mrs.  Heatherley  says 
to  herself,  with  a  laugh  and  a  shrug  of  the 
pretty  supple  shoulders — whose  undulations 
the  Bishop  is  observing  at  the  moment  w-ith 
admiring  eyes — "  but  I  shall  have  to  endure 
the  burden  of  being  bored  by  him  so  long  as 
we  both  do  live.  Why  shouldn't  Ladj^  St. 
Just  have  a  sensation  of  what  I  shall  have  to 
bear  ?     Ethel  and  I  compensate  her  amply  for 


Sisterly  Zeal.  167 

Fanny's  cautious  insipidity,  and  her  father's 
excellent  uninterestingness,"  So  for  the  sake 
of  a  certain  something,  which  she  does  not 
confide  either  to  her  child  Ethel,  or  her 
captive  Bishop,  Mrs.  Heatherley  puts  her 
pride  aside,  and  stays  on  where  she  is 
obviously  not  wanted. 

Success  appears  about  to  crown  her  in  one 
direction,  at  least,  when  she  hears  that  on  the 
following  day  "  six  guns,"  chosen  for  their 
well-known  prowess  over  turnip  fields  and 
against  partridges,  are  going  out  from  Boyne 
Gate  for  a  hard  day's  work,  and  that  their 
arduous  labours  are  to  be  relieved  by  the 
ladies  and  luncheon  at  Bale  Coppice  at  half- 
past  one.  For  among  these  six  are  the 
Marquis  of  Monkstown  and  his  son,  Lord 
Kenmare. 

"I  hear  that  Lord  Monkstown  is  a  sweet 
old  man,"  Mrs.  Heatherley  says  to  the  Bis- 
hop ;  "  and  [I  am  sure  when  he  sees  Ethel, 
and  finds  how  perfectly  she  behaves,  never 
giving  Kenmare  the  slightest  encouragement 
to  make  love  to  her,  and  yet  showing  her 
liking  for   him  in    such  a  pretty,  frank  way, 


16S  J,','r  "7.:,  T:'/rfr&, 

I  an  surf^  quite,  quite  sure  iLai  he  "vril] 
?^:Tip:>r:  his  son's  suit,  and  thai  our  darHng 
Ziiiel  will  be  made  happy  almost  airainsT 
her  wilL^ 

~  A  Higier  Power  than  ours  directs  these 
tim^ps,"  the  Bishop  sars.  vith  the  impressiTe 
tcaae  that  is  pronounced  to  be  **  venr  teOing  " 
by  his  admirers  when  he  is  sivin^  a  Charse 
ful]  of  flawless  commonplaces.  Bat  at  tlie 
same  time,  despite  tliis  rerbal  expresskm  of 
pious  rdiance,  be  is  crlad  that  Mrs,  Heatberiey 
will  have  such  an  excellent  opportunitr  of 
loi^ng  a  mundaue  hand  towards  the  fcH"- 
mjUicm  of  so  gratiiying  a  connectioa. 

Tbere  is  a  sort  of  tacit  agreem^Qit  between 
Ladj  Jst.  Just  and  Mrs.  Heatherley  to  the 
efect  that  Ethel  shall  not  be  told  that  Lcw^d 
Kemnare  and  his  fath^-  will  loeet  them  at 
B«le  Cloppice  this  day.  AoeordiQgly,  Ethel 
aDoviB  hersdf  to  be  bent  and  mooMed  to 
thfor  widies  and  wHls  without  a  murmur. 
There  is  a  good  deal  of  the  managing  faculty 
required  in  order  to  tran^KHt  the  home 
party  to  the  trystii^-fJace  oomlbitafafy  and 
consistentlT.     It  is  clear  to  the  most;  <^nqae 


Sisterly  Zeal  169 

secular  mind  that  the  gaiters  and  hat  of  a 
bishop  must  not  be  shown  to  the  eye  of 
dissent  (which  prevails  in  these  parts)  des- 
cending Irom  a  httle  Xorfolk  cart.  Therefore 
^Irs.  Heatherley  is  compelled  to  accompany 
the  wearer  of  these  honourable  but  oppressive 
insignia  in  the  landau  with  Lady  St.  Just, 
instead  of  going,  as  her  taste  would  dictate, 
in  the  Norfolk  cart  drawn  by  the  sporting- 
looking  Httle  cob  which  is  driven  by  Ethel. 

And  to  make  matters  worse,  it  seems,  fate 
decrees  that,  for  the  greater  convenience  of 
the  greater  number,  Fanny  Templeton  shall 
be  Ethels  companion.  Eanny  Templeton, 
who  will  squeeze  herself  into  every  little 
crevice  of  an  opportunity  which  judicious 
management  may  make  for  Kenmare  to  have 
uninterrupted  intercourse  with  Ethel.  Mrs. 
Heatherley's  brow  darkens  and  her  eyes  glare 
at  her  future  step-daughter,  as  Fanny  takes 
her  place — and  Fanny's  intuition  tells  her  the 
reason  why. 

"  Your  mamma  is'  afraid  I  shall  be  in  your 
way.  dear."  she  says,  at  once,  and  Ethel, 
taking  her  literally,  repUes — 


170  Allerton  Towers. 

"  Oh  !  nonsense  ;  there's  plenty  of  room— - 
room  for  one  behmd  as  far  as  that  goes ;  Mr. 
Grove,  why  don't  you  come  with  us  ? " 
she  cries  out,  as  the  chaplain  is  preparing 
to  step  into  the  landau,  and  without  hesi- 
tation Mr.  Grove  turns  and  accepts  the 
invitation. 

For  a  few  minutes  Fanny  is  silenced  by  this 
move  on  the  board,  but  as  they  dash  out  into 
the  lane  which  leads  to  Bale  Coppice  she 
recovers  her  wonted  equanimity,  and  power 
of  uttering  that  which  is  most  likely  to 
discompose  her  audience. 

"I  am  feeling  quite  anxious  to  see  Lord 
Monkstown,  are  not  you,  Ethel?  They 
say  he's  such  a  fascinating,  courtly  old  gentle- 
man, and  as  handsome,  even  now,  as  Lord 
Kenmare.'' 

The  cob  bends  his  nose  in  half  an  inch 
more,  and  steps  out  a  thought  quicker,  thus 
indicating  that  he  has  felt  a  sudden  pressure 
on  his  bit.  This  is  the  only  sign  given  that 
the  name  so  lightly  mentioned  has  gone  home 
to  the  heart  of  the  hearer. 

"Is  Lord  Monkstown   one  of  the  party?" 


Sisterly  Zeal.  171 

Ethel  asks,  holding  her  face  well  round  for 
Miss  Templeton's  inspection. 

"  Why ;  yes,  of  course,  you  know  that  both 
he  and  Kenmare  are  here,"  Fanny  rejoins,  and 
at  the  same  moment  the  cob  swerves  sharply 
round  a  corner  close  to  the  coppice. 


CHAPTEE    X, 


BALE    COPPICE. 


[[jSpHE  cob  has  distanced  his  more  ma- 
jestic stable  brethren  in  tlie  landau, 
and  the  consequence  is,  Ethel  finds 
herself  dashing  up  to  the  group  of  six  ex- 
pectant, hungry  men,  with  the  air  of  being 
so  eager  to  join  them  that  she  has  outstripped 
conventionality,  and  left  her  chaperone  be- 
hind her. 

The  clear,  bright,  dark  face  lights  up 
radiantly,  and  the  soft,  dark  velvet  eyes  are 
lustrous  with  a  variety  of  deeply-stirred 
feelings,  as,  foremost  among  the  group  of 
men,  the  girl  recognises  Lord  Kenmare. 
She  cannot  help  feeling  pleased  at  the  warm 
pleasure  with  which  he  comes  to  greet  her. 
She  cannot  help  feeling  flattered  at  the  flat- 
tering heart-and-lip-homage  he  renders  her. 
She  cannot  help  being  proud  of  the  pride 
he   takes   in   showintj   all   those  who  care  to 


Bale  Coppice.  1 7. '5 

see  it,  that  his  devotion  to  Ethel  Heath erley 
is  unaltered. 

He  is  by  the  side  of  the  Norfolk  cart  the 
moment;  the  cob  stops,  doffing  his  hat  low 
to  the  young  lady,  whose  pretty  blushes 
might  pass  for  the  red  flag  of  love  in  the 
eyes  of  one  less  keen  to  detect  the  truth 
than  he  is. 

"  May  I  introduce  my  father  to  you  ?  "  he 
asks,  and  presently  Ethel  feels  her  hand  taken 
very  kindly  by  a  handsome  old  gentleman, 
who  is  merely  a  splendidly-matured  edition 
of  Kenmare. 

"  This  is  the  obstacle  to  my  wishes  with 
regard  to  Caroline,"  Lord  Monkstown  thinks, 
and  he  resolves  to  ignore  Kenmare's  infatua- 
tion altogether,  since  the  latter  has  never 
confided  the  name  of  the  object  of  it  to  the 
paternal  ear. 

"  The  boy  wears  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve," 
the  father  says  to  himself,  as  Ethel  springs 
out  of  the  trap,  and  Kenmare  at  once  en- 
deavours to  draw  her  away  from  the  others 
"  to  look  at  a  view  of  Boyne  Gate  from  the 
other  end  of  the  coppice."     But  Lord  Monks- 


174  Allerton  Towers. 


town  does  not  think  this  angrily,  by  any 
means.  He  is  not  displeased  that  his  son's 
iirst  serious  heart-affection  should  have  been 
given  him  by  a  girl  who  would  so  gracefully 
wear  the  title  and  coronet  of  a  marchioness 
as  Ethel.  "  It  must  never  be  with  Kenmare, 
but  she  amply  justifies  the  boy's  admiration 
for  her,  and  desire  to  have  her,"  the  old 
nobleman — who  prides  himself  upon  estimat- 
ing women  correctly,  and  specially  plumes 
himself  on  the  aptitude  of  his  power  of  dis- 
cerning whether  or  not  they  are  fitted  by 
nature  and  habit  to  hold  high  places — thinks. 

"  It    must   never  be with  Kenmare  ;    but 

if  he  gets  over  it,  or  rather  when  he  gets 
over  it" — Lord  Monkstown  checks  even  his 
thoughts  at  this  juncture,  but  they  have 
run  away  with  him  far  enough  for  it  to  be 
nearly  a  certainty  that  if  Ethel  is  ambitious 
only,  her  ambition  may  be  gratified  by 
another  than  Kenmare ! 

That  something  of  this  is  shadowed  forth 
in  the  long,  admiring  gaze  which  the  old 
gentleman  sends  after  the  supple,  erect  figure 
which    is    stepping    along    so   lightly   in    the 


Bale  Coppice.  175 

distance  by  the  side  of  his  son,  may  be 
gathered  from  the  fact  that  Fanny  Templeton 
feels  impelled  to  say  as  soon  as  an  introduc- 
tion enables  her  to  address  Lord  Monkstown : 

"  Have  you  never  seen  my  pretty  friend 
before  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
Miss  Heatherley  until  to  day,"  he  replies. 

"  Ah !  your  son  has  the  advantage  of  you 
in  that  respect  at  least,"  Fanny  says,  putting 
on  a  look  of  tender  regard  for  the  young  girl, 
whom  she  would  willingly  obliterate  from  the 
face  of  the  earth  at  the  present  moment,  were 
such  a  course  feasible  without  unpleasant 
results  to  herself.  Then,  as  Lord  Monkstown 
acquiesces  in  her  statement  that  his  own  son 
has  the  advantage  of  him,  Fanny  goes  on — 

"  Lord  Kenmare  and  Miss  Heatherley  are 
quite  old  friends,  and  would  have  been  some- 
thing more,  I  have  heard,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  prior  claims  of  Mr.  Walter  Gifford." 

"  Indeed !  " — Lord  Monkstown  startled  a 
little,  not  as  Fanny  supposes  by  the  sugges- 
tion that  his  son  has  been  in  love  with  Ethel, 
but  by  the  idea  of  any  other  man  being  for- 


176  Allerton  Towers. 

tunate  enough  to  have  a  prior  claim  to  her — 
"indeed!    and  who  is  Mr.  Walter  GifFord?" 

"  A  surgeon  in  practice  in  Allerton  Towers, 
a  good  sort  of  young  man,  I  believe,  not  that 
I  know  anything  of  him,  for,  of  course,  he's 
not  in  our  set.'' 

"  At  the  same  time  you  are  so  intimate 
with  his  fiancee. "" 

Lord  Monkstown  put  it  in  this  way,  hoping 
that  he  may  be  told  immediately  that  Ethel 
is  not  a  fiancee,  but  the  feline  Fanny  has  no 
intention  of  putting  the  noble  mover  out 
of  pain  or  suspense  quickly. 

"  I  am  so  intimate  with  his  fiancee,  because 
her  mother  and  the  Bishop,  my  father,  are 
going  to  be  foolish  enough  to  marry  one 
another  in  their  old  age.  Then  she  remem- 
bers that  Lord  Monkstown  must  be  the 
Bishop's  senior  by  many  a  long  year,  and 
adds  an  amendment : 

"Xot  that  my  father's  age  is  against  the 
wisdom  of  the  intention,  I  don't  think  that 
for  a  moment ;  but  Mrs.  Heatherley  is 
certainly  long  past  the  age  at  which  it  might 
have  been  easy  to  tear  her  from  the  habits 


Bale  Coppice.  Ill 

to  which  she    is  wedded,   and  mould   her   to 
a  new  manner  of  hfe." 

"  There  is  nothins^  that  can  be  said  against 
Mrs.  Heatherley's  prudence ;  she  has  shown  it 
in  accepting  the  Bishop,"  the  Marquis  says, 
smihng,  and,  as  he  speaks,  the  landau  with  its 
highly  esteemed  cargo  comes  lumbering  up 
respectably,  and  kind  little  Fanny  is  unable 
to  put  any  more  pins  into  the  noble  pin- 
cushion for  the  time. 

As    soon    as   Mrs.    Heatherley    comes    into 
collision   with   Lord    Monkstown,  she    under- 
stands that  she  must  renounce  her  intention 
of  creating  a  paternal  regard  for  Ethel  in  his 
heart.     He  is  no  "  heavy  father  "  to  hold  out 
against    the   projected    union    of    the    young 
people,    for    whom    she    is    scheming,    for    a 
time,  and  then  to  endow  them  with  countless 
thousands  and  his   blessing.       He  is,  on   the 
contrary,    a    fine,    handsome,    rather    vain; 
attractive,   rather   selfish   man,  who   banishes 
his   age  as   much   from    his    own    mind,   and 
from  the  sight  of   other  people,  as  possible. 
A   man    in    whom    the    pride    of  life    is  still 
strong  enough    for   it    to   be   extremely   pro- 

VOL.  I.  K 


178  Allerton  Tower. 


bable  that  lie  will  prefer  having  a  beautiful, 
penniless  young  wife  for  himself,  to  permitting 
his  son  to  enjoy  the  luxury. 

All  this  is  so  patent  to  Mrs.  Heatherley, 
that  she,  being  in  her  own  eyes  a  still  young 
and  remarkably  pretty  woman,  is  almost  dis- 
posed to  regret  that  the  proclamation  of  her 
victory  over  the  Bishop  has  gone  forth.  Her 
unfailing  instinct  for  the  fitness  of  things  tells 
her  that  she  would  have  made  a  better  mar- 
chioness than  she  will  a  bishop-ess.  But  as 
this  is  not  in  the  alterable  order  of  things, 
Mrs.  Heatherley  makes  up  her  mind  to 
succumb  to  the  inevitable,  graciously  and 
gracefully. 

She  still  has  a  trump  card  in  her  hand! 
"Ethel  is  the  most  marriageable  girl  I  ever 
saw  in  my  life,  if  she  can  only  be  induced  to 
marry,"  she  tells  herself;  and  then  she  looks 
at  the  Marquis  and  makes  plans  ! 

"  Dear  old  man  ! — so  distin2:uished-lookinii ! 
After  all,  there's  nothing  finer  on  the  face  of 
the  earth  than  a  real  Irish  gentleman.  And 
the  Marquis  of  Monkstown  may  safely  chah 
lenge     criticism.       An     old     man's    darling. 


Bale  Coppice.  179 

What  better  fortune  for  a  fortuneless  girl  can 
be  desired?  An  old  man's  darling  !  And  that 
old  man  a  venerable  Adonis  and  a  marquis  !  " 

"My  daughter  is  such  a  perfect  child  of 
nature,  that  she  forgets  other  people  may- 
animadvert  upon  her  conduct ;  she  treats 
Lord  Kenmare  with  the  simple  familiarity 
she  would  show  towards  a  younger  brother ; 
forgetting  that  unkind  eyes  may  see  more 
in  her  manner  than  she  means,  and  unkind 
tongues  mention  it." 

Mrs.  Heatherley  says  this  in  plaintively 
apologetic  accents  to  Lord  Monkstown,  in  a 
brief  interval — during  which  she  has  him 'en- 
tirely to  herself — while  the  luncheon  is  being 
spread.  It  is  not  through  neglecting  the 
Bishop  that  this  opportunity  arises,  but  rather 
that  he  is  allowing  himself  to  be  absorbed  by 
a  communication  his  daughter  has  just  made 
to  him, 

"Papa,"  Fanny  says,  as  she  sees  Mrs. 
Heatherley  preparing  to  melt  Lord  Monks- 
town,  "  I  want  to  show  you  a  fern  that  we 
ought  to  have  for  our  grates,  it  spreads  so 
beautifully."     Then,  while  the  Bishop  is  look- 

n2 


180  Allerton  Towers. 


ing  in  blind  confidence  for  the  fern,  in  the 
direction  his  daughter  indicates,  she  stabs  him 
ruthlessly : 

"  Papa,  do  you  know  that  woman  is 
hopelessly,  irretrievably,  scandalously  in 
debt  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe — I  mean  what  woman  are 
you  speaking  about  ?  "  he  says,  wincing  piti- 
fully under  the  pain,  but  struggling  still  to 
preserve  an  air  of  composure. 

"  You  know  I  can  only  mean  Mrs.  Hea- 
therley." 

"  And  you  know  Mrs.  Heatherley  is  to  be 
my  wife,  Fanny ;  I  can't  listen  to  gossip 
about  her,  even  from  you." 

"  But  the  gossip  is  true,  papa ;  I  have 
heard  to-day,  on  excellent  authority,  that 
Mrs.  H.  civherley  is  only  marrying  you 
because  she  has  wasted  her  daughter's  sub- 
stance and  her  own ;  she  is  nothing  better 
than  an  extravagant  pauper." 

"  It  would  be  treason  to  myself  were  I  to 
listen  to  such  an  evil  report,"  the  Bishop 
says,  strengthening  himself  in  his  determina- 
tion to  be  staunch  by  the  reflection  that  he 


Bale  Coppice.  Ibl 

is  too  firmly  in  Mrs.  Heatlierley's  clutclies 
ever  to  hope  to-  get  out  of  them. 

"  It  is  worse  treason  to  yourself  to  turn 
a  deaf  ear  to  what  I  tell  you,  papa,"  Fanny 
persists,  and  to  do  her  justice,  she  has  good 
grounds  for  what  she  says,  and  is  not 
actuated  by  an  unkindly  spirit  towards  Mrs. 
Heatherley  only.  It  is  gall  and  wormwood 
to  her  to  think  of  the  widow  as  the  pre- 
siding genius  of  the  Palace,  but  there  is 
worse  bitterness  in  the  thought  that  the 
widow  will  bring  no  grist  to  the  mill. 

"  At  any  rate,  enquire  into  her  affairs 
before  you  take  the  fatal  step,  papa,"  she 
urges,  and  the  Bishop,  who  has  a  quiet 
conviction  that  he  is  going  to  his  doom  in 
making  this  marriage,  promises  her  that  he 
will    "  be   cautious." 

"At  the  same  time,  understand  that  I 
have  every  confidence — every  confidence  in 
Mrs.  Heatherley,"  he  says,  emphatically — 
so  emphatically,  in  fact,  that  he  almost 
beheves  himself.  But  his  daughter  knows 
better,  and  in  the  unconvinced  toss  her 
head   gives    there    is    another    dagger-thrust. 


182  Allerton  Towers. 


Meanwhile  Ethel  and  Lord  Kenmare  are 
looking  at    the    view    on    the    sheltered    side 

o 

of  Bale  Coppice. 

"  Did  you  think  I  should  be  here  to-day  ? " 
he  asks,  when  they  have  rounded  a  corner 
and  found  a  bank  thickly-cushioned  with 
moss,    to    sit   down    upon. 

"  I  didn't  think  about  you  before  I 
started." 

"  But,  after  you  had  started,  did  I  come 
into  your  head  at  all  ?  Give  me  that  much 
pleasure  at  least — say  you  thought  I  should 
be  here,  and  still  you  came." 

"  You  were  put  into  my  head  by  Fanny 
Temple  ton ;  she  told  me  just  as  we  drove 
up  to  you,  that  '  of  course  I  knew  both  your 
father  and  you  were  here  !  I  didn't  know, 
but  that  was  her  way  of  putting  it." 

"  I  hope  you'll  like  my  father." 

"  I  hope  I  shall,"  Ethel  says,  politely.  It 
does  not  seem  a  matter  of  vital  consequence 
whether  she  likes  his  father  or  not,  but,  as 
he  wishes  it,  she  does  not  feel  disposed  to 
cavil  at  the  expression  of  his  desire. 

"Yes,"    the  young    man   goes    on,  I  hope 


Bale  Coppice.  ISo 

with  all  my  heart  you'll  like  my  father, 
because  if  you  do  he'll  soon  think  all  the 
world  of  you,  and  the  other  will  be  no- 
where." 

"  I  don't  want  him  to  think  all  the  world 
of  me,''  Ethel  says,  anxiously ;  "  it  would  be 
such  a  pity,  such  a  waste  you  know,  if  he 
did  !     And  who's  the  other  one  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  forgot  you  didn't  know  about 
my  cousin,  Caroline  Hawtrej' ;  she's  the 
governor's  craze ;  she's  an  heiress,  and  she's 
his  niece,  and  she's  destined  by  both  her  own 
father  and  mine  to  be  Lady  Kenmare ;  and, 
look  here,  Ethel,  whether  you  will  in  time, 
or  not,  I  don't  mean  to  have  it." 

"To  have  what?" 

"You  know  what — Caroline  for  my  wife; 
she's  a  good  little  thing,  meek,  and  gentle, 
and  nice-looking ;  but,  after  seeing  you,  and 
seeing  what  I  do  in  you,  I  cannot  see  any- 
thinof  in  her  stronii^  enouirh  to  blot  you 
out." 

"  I  think  most  men  fall  in  love  two  or 
three  times,  in  a  fanciful  way,  before  they 
meet  the  women  they  marry," 


J  84  Allerton  Towers. 

"  I  think  I've  heard  that  remark  made 
before,"  he  laughs.  "Miss  Heatherley,  even 
when  you  try  to  be  tame  and  trite  you're 
more  interesting  than  any  other  girL" 

"  I  have  not  been  sufficiently  interesting 
to  Mr.  Gifford  to  keep  him  true  to  me," 
she  says,  sorrowfully.  "  Just  think ;  I'm 
as  fond  of  him  as  you  are  of— anybody, 
and  I've  had  to  give  him  up  because  he 
has   seen  a  girl  he  likes  better  than  me." 

"  I    don't  believe  it." 

"Do  you  mean  you  don't  believe  he's 
tired    of   me  ? "    she    asks,    eagerly. 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I  do  mean  ;  I  wish  I 
could  run  him  down  with  all  my  heart ;  I 
wish  I  could  dare  to  say  that  I  think  him 
a  hound.  But  I  don't,  you  see  ;  if  any 
one  has  told  you  that  he's  tired  of  you 
and  that  he  likes  someone  else  better,  that 
someone  must  have  lied,  because  he 
couldnt,  you  know ! — tlie  thing  isn't  in 
man  '  to  do.'  " 

"  I  think  you're  better  than  anyone  else, 
you're  nobler  ;  you  can't  imagine  low,  false 
things ;    oh !  you  are  so  true,  and    you    are 


Bale  Coppice.  185 

?o  generous  ! "  Ethel  says,  vigorously,  and, 
instantly,  she  wishes  she  had  not  said  it, 
for  Lord  Kenmare  takes  heart  of  grace 
from    her    encouragement    to   say : 

"  You  never  say  a  thing  you  don't  mean, 
I've  found  that  out '  about  you ;  and  so,  as 
you  mean  you  think  all  these  good  things  of 
me — can't  you,  ccmt  you  love  me,   dear  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could — I  am  an  unfortunate  girl, 
I  think,  Lord  Kenmare,"  she  says,  with  a 
sweet  seriousness  that  appeals  to  all  that  is 
noblest  in  his  noble  nature.  "'  At  least,"  she 
adds,  hurriedly,  as  if  she  fears  she  were  doing 
injustice  to  someone,  '•  I  seem  to  be  unfortu- 
nate just  now,  but,  perhaj)s,  it's  only  seem- 
ing ;  the  two  people  I  think  most  of  in  the 
world — the  two  I  love  the  best  and  want  to 
trust  the  most,  'seem'  to  be  getting  away 
from   me." 

"And  one  of  these  is  this  Mr.  Gifibrd?" 
he  asks,  with   kindly  curiosity. 

"  Yes,  one  of  them  is  '  this  Mr.  Gifibrd,'  as 
you  choose  to  call  him,"  Ethel  says,  perking 
her  head  up  in  proud  deprecation  of  the 
depreciation   which  is  implied  in  that    word 


186  Allerton  Towers. 


*'  only ; "  "  and  that  he  should  fall  off,  or 
seem  weak  and  wanting,  is  a  trouble  heavy- 
enough  to  embitter  my  life,  for  I  thought 
him  higher  than  myself,  you  know,  and — " 

She  pauses  suddenly,  and  a  light,  as  of  a 
new  revelation,  springs  up  into  her  face. 

"  I  forgot,"  she  whispers,  bending  her 
pretty  head,  with  pretty  modesty,  "  I  for- 
got !  the  one  who  has  taken  him  from  me 
may  be  so  much  better  than  me,  that  it 
was  only  right  of  him    to  go." 

This  is  a  view  of  the  case  w^hicli  Kenmare 
cannot  combat.  When  Ethel  is  lowly,  she  is 
a  beloved  but  still  an  overwhelming  burden. 

"But  it  can  never  be  made  to  look  right 
that  mother  should  marry  the  Bishop,"  Ethel 
goes  on,  looking  him  direct  in  the  face,  in  a 
way  that  makes  him  feel  that  it  will  be  idle 
on  his  part  to  utter  a  mere  platitude.  "  It 
will  always  look  a  strained  and  incongruous 
arrangement — and  it  will  be  worse  than  it 
looks.  And  I  can't  bear  it,  for  I  love  my 
mother." 

"  She  is  a  free  agent,"  Lord  Kenmare 
remarks,  suggestively.     He  is  afraid  to  assert 


Bale  Coppice.  187 

anything,  yet  he  wishes  to  show  that  he  has 
a  healthy  yearning  for  information  on  all 
points   that  concern  Miss  Heatherley. 

"  Yes — mother's  a  free  agent,  as  far  as 
being  well-off  and  quite  independent  of  every 
one  goes ;  but  mother  has  a  very  gentle  and 
reliant  nature — oh !  she's  ever  so  much  more 
inclined  to  yield  and  to  lean  upon  people 
than  I  am." 

"And  the  Bishop  is  a  good,  massive 
leaning-post ! " 

"  That's  just  it ;  dear  mother  has  lived  her 
graceful,  unprotected  life  long  enough  for  her 
to  have  gained  reliance  on  herself;  but,  some- 
how or  other,  she  hasn't  got  it ;  she's  afraid 
of  what  people  may  say  of  her  and  of 
me !  as  if  it  mattered !  and  she  fancies  when 
she  is  the  Bishop's  wife  that  we  shall  both 
be  founded  on  a  rock." 

"  If  I  were  you  I  wouldn't  fret  myself 
about  my  mother's  marriage.  The  Bishop's 
worst  fault,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  is  that  he's 
a  deuced  nuisance  to  talk  to;  and,  if  your 
mother  can  stand  that,  you  needn't  worry 
yourself  about  it,  need  you  ? " 


188  Allerton  Towers. 


"  I  often  wonder  what  people  go  on  talk- 
ing about  all  through  the  long  years — for 
ever  so  long — for  so  long  as  they  both  do 
live — as,  when  they're  married,  and  all  the 
furniture  is  got,  and  they  know  who's  going 
to  call  and  who  isn't,  there  can't  be  much 
more  to  say ; "  and  he  replies,  with  the 
decision  that   is  an  attribute   of  his  age — 

"They  don't  talk  to  each  other,  you  know." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  husbands  and  wives 
don't  talk  to  each  other  ?  " 

"  Not  as  a  rule — but — you  and  your 
husband  will  be  an  exception ;  I  could  go 
on  talking  with  you  for  ever  without  feeling 
tired,  or  thinking  that  a  change  would  be 
pleasant." 

"  Ah !  but  you're  not  my  husband,"  she 
says,  lightly ;  "  and  if  you  were  we  should 
soon  wear  the  topics  we  have  in  common, 
threadbare  ;  now,  with  a  man  who  had  a  pro- 
fession, it  would  be  different.  I  should  take 
an  interest  in  his  cases,  and  speak  about 
them " 

" Is  there  any  path  in  life  that  I  can 

tread  that  will  awake  interest  enough  in  j-ou 


Bale  Copince.  189 

to  make  me  follow  it,"  he  interrupts,  eagerly ; 
"  I'll  go  in  for  politics  with  my  whole  heart 
if  you'll  put  a  bit  of  heart  into  my  doing 
so.'' 

"  If  I  weighed  with  you  for  a  moment — 
if  you  thought  of  me  when  you  went  into 
the  strife,  your  whole  heart  wouldn't  be  in 
your  work,   therefore  you'd  do  it  badly." 

"  May  I  not  hope  to  touch  a  noble  aim,  and 
then  lay  fondly  at  your  feet  the  fulness  of  my 
fame?"  he  asks,  and  then  Ethel  gives  him 
a  sharp  thrust  with  the  sword  of  common- 
sense. 

"  If  your  father  knew  the  way  in  which 
you  are  misusing  your  privileges,  how  angry 
he  would  be  with  you  and  with  me ;  and 
don't  make  him  angry  with  me — I  want  him 
to  like  me." 

"  For  my  sake  ?  "  he  mutters. 

"  No,  not  for  your  sake  at  all ;  but  because 
he's  a  grander  gentleman  than  I've  ever  seen 
before,  and  so  I  should  like  him  to  like  me, 
and   make   much   of  me,  for  my  own   sake." 

The  girl  is  very  much  in  earnest,  and  only 
a  little  in  jest,  in  saying  this.     Nevertheless, 


190  AUerton  Towers. 


it  startles  and  almost  hurts  her  when  he 
answers,  gravely : 

"  I  hope  and  trust  that  it  may  be  for  your 
'own  sake,'  for  your  sake  will  be  mine." 

Even  as  he  says  this,  the  old  Marquis 
rounds  the  corner  of  the  coppice,  escorted  by 
Mrs.  Heatherley  and  Fanny  Templeton.  The 
Bishop  would  not  come  "  because  the  wasps 
worry  him,"  they  explain  ;  and  Lady  St.  Just 
wishes  the  elaborately-prepared  luncheon  to 
be  eaten  without  further  delay.  But  Ethel 
cannot  help  feeling  that  neither  the  impor- 
tunity of  the  wasps  assailing,  as  they  do,  the 
current  comfort  of  a  Bishop,  nor  the  urgency 
of  the  case  as  regards  the  luncheon,  would 
have  brought  Lord  Monkstown  round  the 
coppice  corner  in  search  of  her. 

"  For  whose  sake,  and  in  whose  interest, 
then  has  he  come?" 

Mrs.  Heatherley  nurtures  a  hope,  and  Ethel 
strives  to  banish  a  thought,  that  both  tend 
to  the  same  point. 

"  He  is  more  struck  with  my  child  than  I 
could  have  believed  a  man  would  be,  accus- 
tomed  to    the    society    of  the   most   loveliest 


Bale  Coppice.  191 

women  in  London,"  Mrs.  Heatlierley  thinks, 
exultantly,  and  at  the  same  time  Ethel,  struck 
by  the  expression  of  her  mother's  face,  is 
tellinsf    herself — 

"  Mother  is  putting  the  father  in  the  place 
she  wanted  the  son  to  fill  the  other  day  !  I 
hope  he  won't  make  an  old  goose  of  himself 
and  meet  her  views,  and  make  my  hard  lot 
harder  than  it  is  already.  Oh,  Walter !  if 
other  men  are  ready  to  love  me,  why  couldn't 
you  go  on  doing  it?" 

But  while  she  is  saying  this  to  herself,  she 
is  listening  very  attractively  to  the  informa- 
tion Lord  Monkstown  is  giving  her  about  Boyne 
Gate.  He  is  telling  her  how  it  came  into  the 
family  generations  ago,  when  a  Baron  Monks- 
town  (this  was  before  they  were  prompted 
marquises)  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  pretty 
Ene^lish  o^irl,  who  turned  out  the  heiress  of 
"  Place,"  as  the  estate  was  called  then,  and 
who  returned  her  Irish  lover's  affection  with 
such  romantic  fervour,  that  she  insisted  on 
chanc^inc:  the  name  of  the  estate  of  her 
fathers   to  Boyne   Gate. 

"  This  is  the  first  time  it  has  ever  been  let,'* 


192  Allerton  Towers. 


he  goes  on  to  explain;  "hitherto  it  has  always 
been  used  as  a  dower-house ;  but,  as  I  am 
unfortunate  enough  to  have  survived  my  wife, 
I  have  let  St.  Just  have  it  for  two  or  three 
shooting   seasons." 

"  It's  the  only  place  you  have  in  England, 
isn't  it  ?  "  Ethel  asks,  for  the  sake  of  saying 
something.  To  her  embarrassment,  Lord 
Monkstown  has  succeeded  in  lagging  behind 
the  others,  and  courtesy  has  compelled  her  to 
stay  and  listen  to  his  explanation  ;  therefore 
she  seems  to  be  lagging,  too. 

"  Yes  ;  the  only  place  I  have  in  England, 
with  the  exception  of  a  little  house  in  Norfolk 
Street,  that  is  scarcely  worth  speaking  of,  as 
it  is  only  fit  for  bachelor's  quarters." 

"  Mother  has  a  house  in  Norfolk  Street, 
too,"   Ethel  says. 

"Has  she?  Do  you  go  to  it  for  the  season? 
Perhaps  I  shall  be  fortunate  enough  to  have 
you  for  neighbours,  if  you  go  up  for  the 
winter  gaiety  !     "What  is  your  number  ?  " 

Ethel  tells  him,  and  he  exclaims — "  Are 
you  sure?  that  is  very  strange,  for  it's  my 
number  ! " 


Bale  Coppice.  193 

"  Yes,  I  am  quite  sure.  We  haven't  been 
up  for  three  years,  but  I  can't  be  stupid 
enough   to  have  forgotten   the   number." 

"I  bought  it  three  years  ago,"  he  says, 
quietly ;  "  perhaps  your  mamma  may  have 
sold  it  to  me." 

"  Oh,  no !  I'm  sure  she  hasn't,  because  she 
was  speaking  of  her  London  house  property 
the  other  day  to  the  Bishop,"  Ethel  says,  with 
an  air  of  conviction.  Still,  the  subject  seems 
to  dwell  in  her  mind  with  undue  weight ;  for, 
when  they  are  all  settled  into  place  around 
the  luncheon-cloth,  she  says  to  Mrs.  Heather- 
ley,  who  is  opposite — 

"Mother,  isn't  it  odd?  Lord  Monkstown 
has  a  house  in  Norfolk  Street,  and  its  num- 
ber is  the  same  as  ours  ?  " 

In  a  moment  each  pair  of  eyes  present  are 
bent  questioningly  on  Mrs.  Heatherley,  into 
whose  pretty,  fair  face,  a  deeper  tint  comes 
for  a  moment,  but  there  is  not  a  touch  of 
confusion  in  the  way  in  which  she  answers 
promptly : 

"  It  would  '  be  odd,'  dear,  if  our  house  had 
not  a  distinguishing  letter  added  to  the  num- 

VOL.  I.  O 


194  Allerton  Towers. 


ber."  Then  with  the  easiest  grace  she  turns 
the  conversation  into  another  channel,  along 
which,  with  ready  courtesy,  Lord  Monkstown 
aids  her  to  glide,  and  helpfully  accompanies 
her.  But  all  the  while  he  is  thinkino- — 
"  That  woman  has  parted  with  her  property, 
and  has  her  own  reasons  for  keeping  quiet 
about  it." 

The  same  thought  enters  into  Miss  Temple- 
ton's  mind,  and  the  Bishop  groans  in  spirit  as 
he  skives  a  furtive  o-lance  at  her,  and  sees  the 
expression  of  malignant  meekness  which  is 
lighting  up  her  face.  "  I  shall  hear  of  this 
most  unfortunate  coincidence  from  Fanny," 
he  says  to  himself,  and  mentally  he  resolves 
to  "  keep  Grove  close  to  him  all  the  day." 

But  his  precaution,  though  he  fully  carries 
it  out,  is  of  no  avail.  For  the  remainder  of 
the  day  he  is  protected  from  the  assault  of 
daughterly-devotion,  by  his  chaplain  and  the 
home  circle  generally ;  but  as  soon  as  he  is 
left  alone  on  his  defenceless  pillow  at  night, 
his  loved,  but  dreaded  Fanny,  takes  him 
unawares,  and  reduces  him  to  a  state  of 
abject  misery  : 


Bale  Coppice.  195 

"  Papa,"  she  whispers,  creeping  in  with  a 
little  lamp  in  her  hand,  and  her  dressing- 
gown  on,  "  I  waited  till  I  heard  Perkins  go 
away  to  the  servants'  wing,  and  then,  as  1 
couldn't  sleep,  I  crept  down.  Did  you  hear 
that  at  luncheon  ?  " 

"  Did  I  hear  what  ?  "  he  says,  in  a  spirit  of 
feeble  prevarication, 

"  Why,  about  the  house  in  Norfolk  Street  ? 
Don't  you  think  that  if  it  had  been  hers  still, 
she  would  have  said  more  than  she  did  about 
the  coincidence  of  the  numbers  being  the 
same  ?  Of  course  she  would  !  Isn't  she  just 
the  person  to  have  twisted  it  into  a  link 
between  herself  and  that  old  Marquis  !  Oh  ! 
papa,  don't  be  weak ;  do  inquire  into  the 
state  of  her  affairs  !  In  justice  to  me,  don't 
hamper  yourself  with  Mrs.  Heatherley  and 
her  daughter,  till  you  find  that  they  can  pay 
their    own  way." 

The  Bishop  is  frightened,  undoubtedly 
frightened,  by  this  fierce  appeal  to  his  pater- 
nal sense  of  justice,  and  his  commonsense 
and  honourable  spirit  of  detestation  of  mone- 
tary    entanglements.     At     the     same     time, 

o2 


196  Allerton  Towers. 


frightened  as  he  is  about  her,  he  is  resolved 
to  be  very  loyal  to  the  best-looking,  and  most 
fascinating  woman  who  has  ever  taken  the 
trouble  to  show  herself  at  her  best  before, 
and  exercise  her  fascination  to  the  utmost 
upon  him. 

''  A  pledge  to  marry  is  a  very  solemn  thing, 
and  the  consideration  of  mere  dross  must 
not  be  permitted  to  interfere  with  its  fufil- 
ment,"  he  says,  with  as  reverential,  and  at  the 
same  time  august  an  air  as  he  can  manage, 
prostrate  beneath  the  bed-clothes,  with  some- 
thing suspiciously  like  a  night-cap  on. 

But  Fanny  is  inexorable.  The  attempt  at 
being  reverential  and  august  does  not  strike 
awe   into   her  heart  for   a   moment : 

"  Nonsense,  papa,"  she  says,  with  emphasis, 
"  it  may  be  '  mere  dross,'  but  you  know  how 
it  upsets  you  to  be  short  of  it." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  PLOT. 

jiALTEE  GIFFOED  has   not   confided 

^       ^     the    contents    or    nature     of    that 

fatal    httle    note    of    Ethel's  .  to    a 

single    human    being.      It    is    always   in    his 

pocket    and    his    thoughts ;    but    he    speaks 

of  it  to  no  one. 

Nevertheless  his  sister  knows  as  well  as  he 
does  himself,  that  her  shot  has  told,  and  that 
he  has  received  his  dismissal  from  Ethel 
Heatherley.  And  still,  though  she  knows 
this,  she  is  not   happy! 

Honestly  and  truly  the  disingenuous  and 
cruel  course  she  has  taken,  has  been  taken 
solely  in  what  she  mistakenly  believes  to 
be  her  brother's  best  interests.  Therefore, 
it  is  disappointing  and  disheartening  to  her 
to  see  him  glooming  so  terribly,  now  that 
she  has  won  freedom  for  him,  instead  of 
making     the    highest   use    of    that     freedom, 


198  Allerton  Towers. 


and   seeking    the   love    which    Lily    Somerset 
is    willing    to    give    him. 

To  do  Lily  Somerset  justice,  there  has 
never  been  a  moment  during  which  she  has 
displayed  unmaidenly  zeal  to  win  him,  since 
that  interview  between  them  which  has  been 
already  recorded.  On  the  contrary,  she  has 
rather  stood  aloof  from  him,  being  very 
kind  and  cordial  when  they  are  together, 
but  never  taking  the  turning's  in  the  di- 
rection in  which  he  may  come,  and  never 
asking  him  when  "  he  will  come  again,"  as 
the  manner  is  of  women,  when  the  yearning 
for  the  society  of  the  beloved  object  has 
overcome    all   reticence. 

"  Now  this,  in  Miss  Gifford's  simple 
and  unsuspicious  eyes,  looks  too  much 
indifference  for  her  to  let  it  pass  uncom- 
mented  upon  long.  Just  as  everything  else 
seems  to  be  en  train  for  success,  it  is  a 
little  too  trying  to  worthy  Mabel  that  Lily 
should  suddenly  become  careless  and  dis- 
encouraging. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  Walter  may  go  or 
come,   or  stay  away,  so    far    as   you're    con- 


.4  Plot.  199 

cerned,"  she  says,  plucking  up  heart  of 
grace  to  speak  her  mind  for  the  cause  that 
is  so  dear  to  her,  even  at  the  risk  of 
offending  her  resplendent   young  tyrant. 

"  He  certainly  may  go  and  come  as  he 
likes,  without  let  or  hindrance  from  me," 
Lily   laughs. 

"  You  don't  tell  me  that  you're  tired  of — 
of    thinking  of   him  ? "  Mabel  asks,   aghast. 

'•  Well,  not  that,  certainly ;  but  I  am  tired 
of  plodding  on  in  my  way,  and  of  seeing  him 
plod  on  in  his.  I  want  to  see  some  startling 
change  come  to  one  of  us.  If  I  got  suddenly 
poor,  and  he  got  suddenly  rich,  your  brother 
would  be  so  charged  with  pity  and  old  asso- 
ciations about  unworthy  me,  that — I  don't 
know  what  might  not  happen  ;  now,  I  am  not 
likely  to  get  suddenly  poor,  but  I  am  con- 
sidering in  my  own  mind  how  it  would  be 
possible  to  put  him  in  such  a  position,  as 
would  compel  him  to  put  forth  all  his  powers; 
at  present  his  practice  is  not  engrossing 
enough,  or  important  enough.  He  moves 
by  inches ;  he  thinks  he  is  working  hard, 
whereas  he  is  nearly  exhausting  his  energies 


200  Allerton  Towers. 


in  rolling    a   heavy   ball  filled  with  littleness 
up  a  steep  hill." 

As  well  as  she  can,  Mabel  follows  the  drift 
of  these  remarks,  and  as  clearly  as  she  can, 
extracts  the  meaning  from  them.  Still,  being 
human,  she  is  liable  to  error,  and  she  errs 
now  in  the  deduction  she  draws. 

"You  mean  that  poor  Walter  ought  to 
work  harder,  and  make  more  money  than  he 
does  " — she  is  beginning,  when  Lily  interrupts 
her,  sharply — 

"  I  mean  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  mean 
that  working  chiefly  as  he  does  among  a 
class  who  are  not  deemed  of  sufficient  im- 
portance by  their  generous-minded  fellow- 
creatures  to  have  their  well  or  ill-doing 
chronicled,  and  published,  and  wondered 
about — is  like  burrowing  in  the  earth.  I 
want  him  to  come  out  into  open  places,  and 
exercise  his  noble  art  upon  those  who  are 
able  to  make  him  celebrated  !  I  would  not 
wish  him  to  be  anything  more  than  he  is 
— a  good  man,  working  well  by  stealth. 
But,  for  his  own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  the 
restoration  to  health  of  his  broken,  weakened 


A  Plot.  2U1 

ambition,  I  would  wish  to  see  him  a  great 
man,  Mab,  and,  if  I  tell  you  how  he  can 
become  one,  will  you  keep  the  secret  ? " 

Of  course  Mabel  promises,  but  she  does 
it  with  a  misgiving  heart.  It  may  be  in 
irresistible  Lily's  mind  to  carry  Walter  off 
to.  the  altar,  and  marry  him  by  force,  the 
alarmed  sister  fears,  and,  if  so ! — how  about 
the  penalties  which  will  befall  those  who 
are  accessory  to    the    deed  ? 

Still  the  force  of  habit  is  upon  her,  and 
she  promises ! — hoping  for  the  best. 

Then  for  the  first  time  in  their  intercourse, 
she  sees  Lily  timid,  and  uncertain   of  herself. 

"  My  plan  is  this — if   you  think  it  wise — " 

Mabel  starts  so  violently  at  this  unwonted 
recognition  of,  and  appeal  to  her  wisdom, 
that  Lily  pauses  to  say,  with  a  brief  relapse 
into  imperiousness — "Don't  jump,  and  be 
absurd.  If  you  think  it  wise,  an  oppor- 
tunity offers  itself,  which,  if  taken,  will  put 
your  brother  in  such  a  position  that  he  will 
be  compelled  to  be  famous,  and  forced  to 
blot  out  all  the  undermining  memories  and 
disappointments     he    nourishes     and    broods 


202  Allerton  Towers. 


upon  now.  If  you  think  it  wise — that 
is,  if  you'll  only  say  you're  glad  about 
it — I  don't  want  any  opinion  from  you, 
you  know,  Mab — Walter  will  have  Dr. 
Laughton's  practice,  and  with  it  he  will 
take  the  onus  upon  himself  of  maintaining 
Dr.  Laughton's  magnificent  reputation,  and 
of  justifying  Dr.  Laughton's  acceptance  of 
him   as    a  successor." 

"  But,  Lily,  what  can  make  Dr.  Laugh- 
ton  give  it  up  to  Walter?"  Mabel  gasps, 
for  Dr.  Laughton  is  a  prince  among  prac- 
titioners, the  nodding  of  whose  head, 
and  the  uplifting  of  whose  eyebrows,  puts 
fifty  guineas  in  his  own  purse. 

"  Money,  you  goose,  money  !  "  Lily  says, 
with  a  great  assumption  of  superior  worldly- 
wisdom,  "and  that's  just  the  part  of  it  that 
you  are  to  keep  quite  secret ;  the  money 
has  been  found,  and  the  matter  has  been 
arranged ;  and  now  all  that  remains  to 
be  done  is  for  Dr.  Laughton  to  introduce 
Walter  to  his  most  important  patients." 

"  Walter  will  never  agree  to  it,"  Mabel 
cries,    startled    out    of    her    customary    awe 


A  Plot.  203 

of,  and  implicit,  unquestioning  obedience 
to  aught  that  Lily  decrees.  "  Walter  will 
feel  that  he  hasn't  worked  his  way  to  it, 
and  that  it's  your  money  has  bought  it, 
and,  feeling  that ! — no  Lily  !  I  couldn't  wish 
my  brother  to  have  so  little  spirit  as  to  take 
it,  grand  as  it  would  be." 

Lily  tries  to  fly  into  a  passion,  and  fails 
in  doing  so  for  once  in  her  life.  Li  place 
of  passion,  scalding  tears,  the  offspring  of 
baflSed,  really  good  feeling,  run  down 
unbecomingly. 

"How  can  you  tell,  how  can  you  be  so 
silly  as  to  think,  or  to  say  that  it  is  my 
money  that  has  done  it?  How  do  yon 
know  that  Walter  hasn't  other  friends  as 
willing  to  spend  money  upon  him  as  I  am, 
or,  rather,  as  I  would  be  if  he  needed  it? 
Besides,  how  do  you  know  that  there's 
any  money  passed  in  the  business  at  all? 
Dr.  Laughton  thinks  an  enormous  deal  of 
Walter's  abilities ;  how  can  you  say  that,  as 
Dr.  Laughton  is  an  old  man,  he  hasn't  been 
glad  to  give  the  good-will,  or  whatever  they 
call  it,  to   a  worthy  young  successor  ? " 


204  Allerton  Towers. 


"I  should  like  to  think  it,"  Mabel  medi- 
tates aloud ;  then  she  reminds  herself  -and 
Lily  that — 

"  You  told  me  it  was  '  money '  made 
Dr.  Laughton  give  it  up  yourself,  Lily, 
and  oh !  what  shall  I  do  when  Walter  taxes 
me  with  having  deceived  him,  and  reproaches 
me  with  not  having  thought  of  his  dignity 
a  little  more.  He  will  think  it  shocking, 
and  quite  a  thing  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  a  man  of  honour  to  do,  to  take 
money  for  his  own  advantage  from  a 
woman ;  it  would  be  different  if  you  were 
old  and  ugly,  my  dear,  indeed,  it  would ! 
But,  I  could  never  look  my  brother  in  the 
face  again,  if  I  pretended  to  think  he 
would  take  such  a  great  benefit  from  you." 

"  I  can't  be  old  and  ugly  all  at  once,  can 
I  ?  "  Lily  says,  trying  to  speak  in  a  petulant 
way,  that  she  has  frequently  found  efficacious 
in  bringing  Mabel  into  prompt  acquiescence 
with  her  view  of  things.  But  to-day  the 
petulance  fails  her!  The  "reality"  of 
something  higher  and  better  than  gratified 
ambition   or    rewarded   love,  is  forced  upon 


A  Plot.  205 

her.  Faint  and  uncertain  as  these  outHnes, 
drawn  by  his  faltering,  frightened  sister's 
hand,  are,  Lily  sees  something  of  the  grand 
"  unhasting,  unresting "  nature  which  she 
has  been  selfishly  seeking  to  shackle  with 
her  little  chains  of  gold. 

"I  can't  be  old  and  ugly  all  at  once," 
she  repeats,  sorrowfully ;  "  but  it  will  wither 
me  if  what  I  have  done  lowers  him  in  his 
own  eyes — it  can't  in  the  eyes  of  anyone 
else."  Then,  with  a  quick  change  to  indig- 
nation, at  being  misunderstood  and  trapped 
into  making  disclosures,  she  adds : 

"And,  how  can  you  dare  to  say  that  it 
has  been  done  in  a  way  that  could  hurt 
the  feelings  of  the  proudest  and  most  sen- 
sitively honourable  man  in  the  world  ? — and, 
even  admitting  that  it  has  been  done,  who  can 
say — who  can  tell  him — that  /  did  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  Lily!  your  conscience  accuses  you, 
and  your  face  betrays  you,"  Mabel  says, 
pushing  her  victory  over  filthy  lucre  to  the 
utmost ;  "  it  would  have  been  too  terrible  if 
my  brother  had  fallen  into  such  a  trap  for 
want  of  a  word  in  season  from  me." 


206  Allerton  Towers. 

The  supreme  moment  is  over  !  and  Lily  is 
disgusted  at  the  aspect  of  the  generous  action 
she  has  contemplated  performing,  when  held 
up  in  this  cold,  rather  coarse  light. 

"  Don't  waste  any  more  seasonable  words 
on  me,  Mabel ;  I  know  you're  half  right,  and 
I  am  more  than  half  wrong ;  still !  what  I've 
done,  or  wanted  to  do,  won't  be  altogether 
so  bad  as  to  make  me  take  the  whole  of  the 
consequences  to  myself;  get  Dr.  Laughton 
to  be  off  his  bargain — if  you  can  ;  but,  if 
ever  you  wish  to  speak  to  me  after  to-day, 
don't  breathe  a  word  of  this  to  your  brother 
— or,  to  me  after  now,  when  I  close  the 
subject,  and  fan  it  away!" 

The  way  in  which  Lily  wafts  a  huge, 
black,  Spanish  fan  backwards  and  forwards, 
in  a  royally-fatigued,  lanquishing  way,  as  she 
says  this,  brings  Mabel  back  into  subjection, 
promptly. 

"  That  you  should  be  upset  about  either 
Walter  or  me — not  but  that  Walter's  worth  a 
dozen  of  any  other  man  /  ever  met  Avith — " 

"You've  not  met  many" — this  from  the 
fairy  tyrant. 


A  Plot.  207 

"  No,  perhaps  not,  and  the  fewer  the  better 
for  me  and  all  other  women,  I  say  ;  but  that's 
neither  here  nor  there,  and  what  I  want  to 
say  shortly  is — if  you  think  of  Walter  rightly 
you'll  think  that  he  is  too  high  already  in 
the  right  way  for  either  of  us  to  help  him 
with  mere  money  and  good  introductions ;  a 
peer's  case  will  never  be  more  to  him  than  a 
pauper's,  my  dear  ! — and,  I  do  think,  when 
Dr.  Laughton  sees  how  really  honest  and 
straightforward  Walter  is,  that  Dr.  Laughton 
will  think  twice." 

"  I'll  never  take  the  curb  off  good 
intentions  again,  without  seeing  what  the 
road  is  before  me,"  Lily  says  to  herself, 
remorsefully.  Then  she  looks  at  Mabel,  and 
half-laughingly  quotes — "  A  Daniel  come  to 
judgment !  Oh,  wise  young  man !  Oh, 
good  young  judge!" 

"  I'm  not  a  Daniel,  neither  am  I  wise  or 
good,  but  I  know  what's  what,  my  dear," 
says  Mabel,  triumphantly,  seeing  she  has 
made  an  impression,  and  then  Lily  gets  it 
heavily  for  a  few  moments  presently,  in  the 
way   of  meek,    soul-subduing,   friendly  casti- 


208  Allerton  Towers. 


gation,  in  a  manner  that  is  not  to  be  f^on- 
templated  in  the  ordinary  manner  of  things. 

And  Lily  has  to  admit  that  "  What's  what " 
in  this  dehcate  minor  kej?",  is  a  knowledge 
that  is  withholden  from  her.  So  she  has 
to  possess  her  soul  in  unwonted  patience, 
and  wait  for  the  outcome  of  the  best  reso- 
lution   she    has   ever    formed. 

Will  Walter  take  it  ?  Will  the  man  who 
has  fjiven  himself  ung-rudsfincfly  to  the  most 
irksome  and  unremunerative  side  of  his  pro- 
fessional labours  yield  suddenly,  and  consent 
to  be  well-placed  without  sufficient  labour 
on  his  own  part?  Will  he  honourably — but 
tamely — take  a  place  he  has  not  won  ?  Will 
he  let  a  woman's  hand  carve  his  fortunes  for 
him  while  his  own  is  strong  ? 

These  questions  can  only  be  answered  by 
Walter  GifFord  hin^iself.  And  Walter  Gifford 
does  not  have  an  opportunity  of  answering 
them  until  he  is  tongue-tied  by  considera- 
tions which  are  forced  upon  him  by  other 
people. 

For  example,  Dr.  Laughton  calls  on  him, 
and  tells  him  in  suave,  courtly   phrase,  that 


.4  Plot.  209 

he  does  not  desire  to  see  himself  succeeded 
by  an  abler  man  than  Walter  Gifford.  Nor 
does  the  great  practitioner,  whose  fiat  has 
been  fate  in  this  neighbourhood  for  years, 
give  his  decision  with  a  sordid  motive.  It 
matters  little  to  him  whether  Walter  Gifford 
succeeds  him  or  not.  He  retires  ! — that  is 
all !  His  retirement  is  the  event,  and  no  one 
knows  better  than  himself  that  his  successor 
must  rely  upon  himself  solely,  just  as  much 
as  though  the  "  good- will "  of  Dr.  Laughton 
had  never  been  bought  and  paid  for.  But 
Dr.  Laughton  is  a  mere  man,  and  is  afflicted 
with  a  desire  to  stand  well  with  pretty 
women ;  and  Miss  Somerset  is  the  prettiest 
and  most  charming  woman  Avhom  it  has  ever 
been  in  his  power  to  serve  !  If  selling  his 
practice — which  he  wants  to  get  rid  of — Avill 
please  her  !  well,  he  will  sell  it,  and  butter  up 
young  Gifford  into  the  bargain,  for  young 
Gifford  has  it  in  him  to  make  a  bigger  name 
than  himself.  It  is  in  vain  that  Walter 
Gifford  asks  straightforward  questions.  Dr. 
Laughton  evades  them  with  the  easy  grace 
for   which    he   is    so  justly   celebrated,    and 


210  Allerton  Towers. 


without  uttering  a  word  that  can  accurately 
be  called  "  untrue,"  he  succeeds  in  giving 
Mr.  Gifford  the  impression  that  he  has  been 
selected  on  his  own  merits  to  be  the  suc- 
cessor of  the  mighty  medicine-man. 

"  From  the  day  you  came  into  the  town  I 
have  watched  your  career  with  the  greatest 
interest,  and  I  give  my  unqualified  approval 
to  the  course  pursued  in  every  case  that 
has  come  under  my  notice,"  the  courteous 
physician  says ;  and  when  Walter  remarks 
that,  to  the  best  of  his  knowledge,  not  one 
of  his  cases  has  come  under  the  great  man's 
notice,  he  is  made  to  feel  that  he  has  raised  a 
petty  quibble,  and  that  there  is  something 
puerile    in   going    thus    into    details. 

"  You  young  men  are  very  properly  so 
entirely  absorbed  in  your  own  work,  that 
you  have  no  perception  of  the  cognizance 
that  is  being  taken  of  that  work  by  older, 
more  experienced,  and  consequently  less 
absorbed  men,"  Dr.  Laughton  explains, 
quellingly. 

"  Still,  I  cannot  comprehend  the  motive 
which  makes  you  select  me,  a  stranger,  when 


A  Plot.  211 

there  inust  be  so  many  men  equally  deserving 
as  myself,  who  have  worked  with  you,  and 
been   taught   by  you,"   Walter    urges. 

"  Put  it  down  to  an  old  man's  caprice,  if 
you  refuse  to  think  it  a  matter  of  sound 
judgment,"  Dr.  Laughton  says,  for  he  is 
resolved  to  be  loyal  to  pretty  Miss  Somerset, 
and   to   keep  her  secret  to   the   end. 

So  the  honour  of  succeeding  Dr.  Laughton 
on  his  own  merits  is  thrust  upon  Walter 
almost  against  his  will,  and  with  reluctance 
he  consents  to  the  next  move,  which  it  is 
absolutely  essential  he  should  make,  namely 
to  t)'()  round  under  Dr.  Lauo-hton's  winof,  and 
be  introduced  to  the  more  august  patients. 

He  has  few  friends  in  Allerton  Towers, 
none  of  whom  he  can  take  counsel  now 
Ethel  has  cast  him  off,  and  he  does  shrink 
from  taking  this  final  step,  which  will  seal 
the  bond  irrevocably,  before  he  has  ex- 
pressed his  doubts,  and  perhaps  had  them 
dispelled. 

It  will  be  more  than  useless  to  consult 
Mabel,  he  feels.  That  affectionate  sister,  and 
anything  but  profound  woman,  will  see   no- 

!•  2 


212  Allerton  Towers. 


thingr  out  of  the  wav  in  the  transaction,  but 
will  probably  regard  it  as  merely  a  just  and 
natural  tribute  to  the  extraordinary  merits  of 
her  brother !  Still,  thouo-h  he  feels  that  she 
will  be  valueless  as  a  counsellor,  he  must  go 
to  her  for  sympathy  in  this  dilemma  in  which 
he  finds  himself  placed.  And,  by  going  to 
her  for  Sympathy,  he  knows  that  he  will  get 
it  from  some  one  else  from  whom  he  can 
scarcely  ask  for  it    direct. 

Mabel  is  alone,  rather  to  his  dis- 
appointment, when  he  goes  into  the  old- 
fashioned  room  at  the  Uplands,  which  is 
gradually  getting  the  impress  of  Lily  Somer- 
set upon  it.  Out  of  the  simplest  materials 
Lily  has  brought  grace  and  beauty. 

A  long,  fisli  hamper  seems  an  unpromising 
subject  to  deal  with  in  the  decorative 
way,  at  the  first  blush,  but,  treated  by 
Lily,  it  seems  as  if  no  more  fitting  receptacle 
for  ferns  and  heaths  could  be  found.  He 
recognises  her  hand,  too,  in  the  way  in 
which  a  common,  round,  deal  table  has  had 
its  top  covered  with  a  cloth  of  velvety 
green    moss,    upon    whicli    wild     flowers    are 


A  Plot.  213 

studded  artistically.  The  sight  of  these 
things  bring  the  thought  of  her  so  vividly 
before  him,  that  he  exclaims  at  once,  before 
even  he  gives  his  sister  the  customary 
salutation — 

"  Where's  Lily  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  Walter,  she  ran  up  to  her  room 
the  moment  she  saw  you  coming ; — don't 
be  angry  with  her,  my  dear,  she  did  it 
thoughtlessly,  but  she  did  it  for  the  best," 
the  poor  lady  blunders  out,  her  mind 
so  charged  with  the  one  subject,  that  she 
does  not  even  notice  her  brother's  look  of 
supreme  bewilderment. 

"  Angry  with  her  ! — did  it  for  the  best ! 
— what  in  the  world  are  you  talking  about, 
Mab  ?  "  he  asks. 

"Don't  you  know  it  yet?"  she  questions 
in  return. 

"  KnoAv  what ! — pray  don't  be  enigmatical, 
Mab." 

"  Why,  know  about  Dr.  Laughton's 
practice  ?  " 

"  I  know  that  he  has  offered  it  to  me — 
what     has   that    to    do    with     Lily  ?  "     Then 


214  Allerton  Towers. 


he  pauses  suddenly,  as  the  whole  truth 
flashes  upon  him,  and  though  his  brow 
burns,  and  his  blood  gallops  through  his 
veins,  there  is  no  anger  in  his  heart 
against  Lily. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

AND    ITS    CONSEQUENCES  ! 

^l^pRESENTLY,  after  a  pause,  the  solemn 
^^^  stillness  of  which  frightens  Miss 
Gifford  into  the  vivid  remembrances 
of  the  sacred  promise  as  to  secresy,  which  she 
has  just— well!  nearly  broken,  Walter  says: 

"  Let  me  see  Lily ;  she  can't  be  silly 
enough  to  think  that  I  can  be  annoyed 
with  her ! " 

"  You'll  take  it,  then  ?  Oh  !  Walter,  my 
dear  boy,  I  am  so  glad,  though  I  never 
thought  for  a  moment  that  you'd  con- 
descend so  far  as  to  take  such  a  hand- 
some offer,  I  mean  favour,  from  any 
young  lady — least  of  all  from  Lily  Somer- 
set, because  of  what  has  been,  you  know, 
and  what  you  seem  to  have  made  up 
your  mind  never  shall  be  again ;  and  so 
I  told  her  when  she  consulted  me — I 
mean     when    she    told    me    what    she     had 


216  Allerton  Towers. 


done,  and  desired  me  to  hold  my  tongue 
about  it ;  '  No,  Lily,'  I  said,  quite  firmly,  '  hard 
as  it  is  to  gainsay  any  of  your  wishes, 
my  duty  to  my  brother  compels  me  to  tell 
you  that  this  can  not  be ;'  and  now  I 
am  so  delighted  to  find  that  I  was  wrong, 
and  that  you  are  going  to  make  Lily  happy 
by  letting  her  make  you  prosperous." 

"My  dear  Mabel,  you  always  think  kindly 
on  every  subject,  and  wish  for  every- 
body's happiness,"  he  says,  gently,  and  his 
sister  is  nearly  melted  to  tears  by  this 
recognition  of  her  amiability,  which,  she 
instinctively  feels,  is  a  little  tedious  in  its 
mode  of  expression  at  times. 

"  And  now,  will  you  let  me  see  Lily  ?  Ask 
her  to  come  and  speak  to  me,"  he  says, 
taking  advantage  of  the  arrested  flow  of 
sisterly  eloquence. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Lily  Somer- 
set's heart  is  beating  rapidly  from  sheer 
nervousness.  For  the  first  time  in  her  hfe, 
the  spoilt  child  of  fortune  doubts  the  wisdom 
of  one  of  her  own  acts,  and  fears  what 
the  consequences  of  it  may  be. 


A7id  its  Consequences  I  217 

"  If  he  would  only  have  accepted  the 
position  without  enquiry,  and  became  famous 
and  rich,  I  could  have  borne  that  he  should 
never  speak  to  me,  or  think  of  me  again," 
the  girl  says  to  herself,  as  she  stands 
clasping  her  trembling  hands,  longing,  yet 
dreading,  to  be  summoned  to  hear  his  fiat. 

She  has  to  lean  against  the  dressing-table 
in  order  to  support  herself,  when  Mabel 
comes  in,  and  she  can  hardly  constrain  her 
trembling  to  say — 

"  Well,  Mabel !  do  you  bring  me  the 
verdict?  Does  your  brother  think  me  an 
impertinent  fool,  for  I  see  in  your  face  you 
have  told  him." 

''  No,  my  dear  Lily,  that  he  does  not, 
and  that  I  did  not ;  that  is,  you  can't  call  it 
my  telling  him,  when  he  jumped  at  it  himself, 
in  a  way  that  looked  like  divination ;  and 
you  would  have  been  the  last  in  the  world, 
I'm  sure,  to  wish  me  to  perjure  myself,  and 
say  I  knew  nothing  about  it,  when  all  the 
time  I  knew  everything;  and  he  wants 
to  speak  to  you,  and  he's  so  grateful  and 
touched,    that   I   believe    thinsfs    will    end  in 


218  Allerton  Towers. 


a  different  way  to  what  I  feared  ;  and — why, 
Lily!— what's  this?" 

"Only — only — "  Lily  tries  vainly  to  stutter 
out  an  explanation,  through  the  convulsively- 
repressed  sobs,  and  the  hot,  rushing  tears. 

"  I  am  not  like  myself,"  she  goes  on, 
struggling  gallantly  to  regain  composure. 
"  I  have  made  myself  nervous  staying  up 
here  alone,  picturing  Mr.  Gifford's  contempt 
for  my  impotent  attempt  to  mould  his  career ; 
and  it  has  given  me  such  a  revulsion  to 
hear  that  he  is  going  to  be  friendly  and 
kind." 

Her  words  sound  strangely  in  her  own  ears. 
Can  she  be  the  same  spoilt,  capricious, 
imperious  Lily,  whose  own  selfish  will  and 
pleasure  have  been  of  paramount  importance 
to  herself  all  her  previous  life.  Can  it  be 
possible  that  the  mere  thought  of  having 
wounded  or  offended  him  can  be  causino- 
her  this  exquisitely  painful  anxiety?  She 
feels  that  her  limbs  tremble  under  her,  and 
that  her  lips  are  quivering,  as  she  goes 
down  the  stairs  and  into  the  room  where 
he  is     waiting    to   judge    and    condemn    her. 


And  its  Consequences !  219 

And  something  in  the  pleading,  pale  face, 
that  is  bent  so  wistfully  towards  him,  makes 
him  spring  to  meet  her,  in  a  sudden 
access  of  such  pitying  regard  that  she  may 
be  forgiven  for  mistaking  it  for  love. 

"  Lily,  your  beautiful  generosity,  exercised 
so  delicately,  too,  as  it  has  been,  touches  me 
more  than  I  can  say,"  he  says,  warmly  taking 
her  hand ;  and  she  draws  her  perfectly- 
balanced  figure  up  proudly  and  happily,  and 
her  forget-me-not  eyes  beam  gratitude  and 
love  upon  him. 

"  You  forgive  me  for  daring  to  do  some- 
thing for  you,  and  accept  the  poor  service  I 
can  render,   Walter  ? "  she   asked. 

He  shakes  his  head,  and  all  her  unselfish 
hopes  and  aspirations  for  him  fall  down   dead. 

"  I  am  more  than  strongly  tempted  to  go  into 
the  groove,  merely  because  you  wish  it  and 
would  put  me  there,"  he  says,  kindly  ;  "  but 
look  here,  Lily,  you'd  be  sorry  yourself  when 
you  thought  of  it  coolly,  if  I  deserted  the 
post  I  have  gained  for  myself,  and  the  people 
to  whom  I  am  useful.  A  man  fills  the  niche 
into  which    he    has  fitted  for    himself,  better 


220  AUerton  Towers. 


than  he  can  ever  fill  one  into  which  he  is 
pressed.  The  work  I  do  in  my  own  sphere  is 
the  work  that  has  come  in  my  way  to  do;  it  is 
ready  to  my  hand  ;  perhaps — Avho  can  tell — 
it  might  get  neglected,  or  even  not  done  at 
all — if  I  went   away  from  it — " 

"  There  is  sickness,  and  suffering,  and  need 
of  medical  skill  in  the  upper  classes  as  well  as 
in  the  middle  and  lower,"  she  says,  briefly, 
triumphing  in  the  thought  that  she  is  using 
an  unassailable   argument. 

"  There  is,  Lily,  and  no  man  would  more 
gladly  strive  to  relieve  that  sickness  and 
suffering  than  I  would,  if  it  came  in  my  way 
in  the  course  of  things,  and  if  I  hadn't  to 
neglect  my  plain  and  obvious  duty  in  order 
to  do  it ;  but  to  gain,  by  purchase,  a  fresh 
field  of  labour,  when  the  one  that  has  been 
given  to  me  needs  all  my  care  and  skill, 
■would  be  to  leave  undone  my  God- given  work 
for  my  own  worldly  gain.  Your  own  good 
heart  will  feel  the  truth  of  this,  and  teach 
you  to  pardon  what,  at  first  sight,  looks  like 
a  churlish  rejection  of  a  sweet,  gracious  piece 
of  womanlv-kindness." 


Ami  its  Consequences  !  221 


"  And  I  was  fool  enough  to  fancy  I  could 
raise  a  man  like  you,"  Lily  says,  with  such 
heart-felt  admiration  for  what  is  best  in  him, 
in  her  tone,  and  look,  that  Walter  admits  to 
himself  that  his  heart  would  go  back  to  Lily, 
if  Ethel  Heatherle}^  had  never  existed  for 
him  ; — "  forgive  my  presumption,  and — ask 
Dr.  Laufjhton  to  find  another  successor." 

"Do  you  mean?" — Walter  is  beginning,, 
when  she  interrupts  him  hastily — 

"Yes,  yes,  I  mean  that  exactly;  let  the 
arrangement  stand,  don't  hurt  me  by  having 
anything  returned ;  you  must  know  some 
clever  doctor,  and  good  man,  who  has  a  large 
family  and  no  practice  ;  turn  my  feeble  efforts 
to  good  account,  Walter ;  give  me  the  joy  of 
feeling  that  it  has  resulted  in  the  welfare  of 
some  one  better,  and  nobler,  and  more  deser- 
ving than  myself — will  you  ?  " 

"  That  I  will,  right  heartily,"  he  cries,  and 
Lily  tells  herself,  humbly,  that  she  is  scarcely 
worthy  to  be  associated  with  this  loyal,  un- 
selfish nature,  even  in  good  works. 

That  Miss  Gifford's  disappointment,  when 
she  comes  to  hear  the  real  state  of  the  case, 


222  Allerton  Towers. 


is  not  bitter,  it  is  impossible  to  deny.  For  a 
few  wild  moments  she  has  permitted  herself 
to  nurse  the  delusive  hope  that  her  brother 
would  acquiescently  slide  into  the  position  of 
local  medical  potentate,  and  be  the  wealthy 
and  important  person  she  always  yearned  to 
see  him  become,  at  the  cost  of  the  sacrifice 
of  some  of  the  loftiest  conscientious  scruples 
entirely  !  But  still !  "  if  Walter  could  do 
it,  it  would  be  right !  "  as  she  tells  herself. 
And,  now,  to  hear  that  all  this  anticipated 
honour  and  glory,  and  gold  galore,  is  to  be 
placed  at  the  disposal  of  some  unknown 
person,  of  unacknowledged  worth  and  poor 
fortunes — 

"  It  is  trying,  my  dear,  very  trying,"  Miss 
Gifford  says,  mournfully,  to  Lily,  and  Lily's 
face  beams  brightly,  as  she  answers,  cheer- 
fully- 

"It  is  right." 

A  few  days  after  this  the  Bishop  returns  to 
the  Palace  and  Mrs.  Heatherley  to  the  cot- 
tage. The  wedding  day  is  fixed  for  an  early 
date,  and  an  extraordinary  report  gains  cre- 
dence in  the  neighbourhood,  to  the  effect  that 


A7id  its  Consequences  !  223 

"  a  marriage  is  arranged  betAveen  the  Marquis 
of  Monkstown  and  Miss  Heatherley." 

"My  poor  Ethel,"  Walter  Gifford  says  to 
himself,  when  he  hears  this,  "  my  Ethel,  still,  I 
know.  Whose  influence  is  it?  No  man  but 
myself  has  any  over  her — it  must  be  her 
mother ! " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AT    LAMINGTON    HALL. 

UmINGTON  Hall,  the  seat  of  Sir 
John  Hawtrey,  Baronet,  is  one  of 
the  show  places  of  the  county.  Local 
guidebooks  go  into  ecstacies  of  enthusiasm 
over  it ;  and  after  avowing  that  language  can- 
not adequately  describe  its  charms,  generally 
wind  up  by  declaring  that  it  "  almost  rivals 
far-famed  Chatsworth." 

This,  however,  may  be  ascribed  to  local 
partiality,  since  those  who  know  both  places 
will  fail  to  discern  the  faintest  resemblance 
between  them.  Nevertheless,  Lamington  Hall 
is  a  very  spacious  and  a  very  fine  mansion, 
well  anointed  with  that  golden  ointment 
which  puts  all  things  in  the  fairest  light, 
and  preserves  all  things  in  the  most  perfect 
order. 

Its  terraces  are  exquisitely  arranged ; 
mosaics,     formed     of    flowers     and     foliage, 


^4^  Lamington  Ball.  225 

master-pieces  of  carpet-gardening  all  the 
season  through.  ^Estheticism  finds  no  con- 
irenial  corner  at  Lamino-ton.  Xo thine  tall 
and  ungainly  in  the  way  of  sun-flowers  or 
white  lilies,  or  hollyhocks  are  permitted  to 
mar  the  effect  of  the  flat,  low  growth  of 
symmetrically-arranged  beds.  Somewhere, 
away  at  the  rear  of  the  house,  sheltering 
the  wing  of  the  palatial  stables,  there  is  a 
well  kept  "  wilderness,"  in  which  nothing 
is  allowed  to  run  wild,  and  where  every 
leaf  seems  to  know  and  keep  its  proper 
place. 

The  interior  arrangements  are  quite  as 
admirably  devised,  and  as  effectually  carried 
out  as  the  outdoor  ones.  Old  Willesdon's 
money  is  put  to  a  good  purpose,  in  so  far 
as  keeping  "  Heaven's  first  law  " — "  Order  " 
— goes.  Smoothly  and  noiselessly  works  all 
the  machinery  of  domestic  management, 
guided  by  the  firm,  strong  hand,  and  the 
great,  good  sense  of  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  the   baronet's    only    child,  Caroline. 

There  is  no  doubt  about  Miss  Hawtrey's 
being  a  very  wise  dispensation.      The  great 


226  Allerton  Towers. 


heiress,  who  has  fifty  thousand  a  year  in  her 
own  right  by  her  grandfather's  will,  is  un- 
swerving in  the  vigour  and  the  zeal  with 
which  she  seeks  out  lurking  extravagancies 
and  puts  them  down.  There  are  moments 
when  the  housekeeper  and  the  butler  loathe 
their  master's  daughter,  for  she  is  not  above 
chronicling  the  flow  of  the  very  smallest  beer. 
And  even  the  hens  at  the  home-farm  seem  to 
have  an  uneasy  sense  of  duty  undone  on  their 
parts  in  the  matter  of  egg-laying,  when  her 
penetrating,  cool  eyes  look  them  over  as  she 
passes  through,  on  the  occasions  of  her 
weekly  visit  of  inspection. 

This  excellent  gift  of  cautious  prudence,  in 
every  case  in  which  money  is  concerned,  is 
not  an  inheritance  from  her  lowborn  mother, 
the  daughter  of  the  Manchester  Croesus,  but 
is  handed  down  to  her  in  unimpaired  integrity 
by  her  well-descended,  ostentatious,  money- 
loving,  money-grudging  father  ;  who  contends 
that  he  has  not  an  atom  of  penuriousness  in 
his  disposition  because  he  cannot  remember 
the  day  on  which  he  denied  himself  aught 
which    miofht     tend    to    his    own    individual 


At  Lamington  Hall.  227 

comfort,  or  to  the  glorification  of  himself  in 
the   e3'es    of   others. 

And  Caroline  resembles  him  in  most  re- 
spects, but  not  in  the  matter  of  ostentation. 
She  has  not  an  atom  of  love  of  display  in  her 
nature.  She  cannot  alter  the  order  of  things 
at  Lamington  because  she  is  overruled  by  her 
father,  who  will  have  it  said  that  his  vineries 
and  conservatories  are  the  finest,  and  his 
carriages  and  horses  the  best-appointed  in 
the  county.  But  it  pleases  her  better  to 
drive  about  in  a  little  unpretentious  pony- 
carriage,  than  to  sit  in  state  in  the  huge  family 
coach,  or  lounge  in  the  elegant  landau. 

Then  again  in  the  matter  of  dress  her  tastes 
are  plain  almost  to  ugliness,  her  cousin.  Lord 
Kenmare,  thinks,  when  day  after  day  he  sees 
her  come  down  to  breakfast  in  a  dull-hued, 
dowdily-made,  gray  dress,  that  gives  her  an 
air  of  quakerish  simplicity.  She  lias  not  a 
girl's  natural  love  for  flowers  or  jewellery, 
and  never  brightens  herself  up  with  a  deftly- 
placed  rose,  or  gathers  lace  about  her  throat 
gracefully,  with  a  gold  brooch.  Magnificent 
diamonds    and     other    gems    repose    in   her 

q2 


228  Alterton  Towers. 


massive  jewel  boxes,  but  Caroline  can  rarely 
be  induced  to  deck  herself  in  any  of  them. 

"  They  suit  me  no  better  than  a  peacock's 
tail  would  a  little  Jenny  Wren,"  she  says, 
when  her  father  signifies  his  desire  that  she 
should  array  herself  sumptuously,  and  shine 
forth  in  the  borrowed  light  of  gems;  "beauti- 
ful dress  and  brilliant  jewels  ought  only  to 
be  worn  by  beautiful  and  brilhant  women — 
they  make  me  look  smaller  and  more  in- 
significant  than  I   am   naturally." 

Her  humble  opinion  of  her  own  personal 
appearance  is  quite  a  genuine  thing.  In  her 
early  childhood,  when  she  was  supposed  to 
be  sleeping,  an  injudicious  nurse  remarked  to 
a  nursery  visitor  that  "•  Miss  Caroline  was  an 
ugly  little  thing  sure  enough,  but  that 
wouldn't  matter ! — there  would  be  plenty  to 
see  beauty  in  her  money."  The  remark  sunk 
into  the  childish  heart,  wounding  it  deeply  at 
the  time,  and  leaving  an  impression  that  has 
never  been  erased.  Her  money  is  the  only 
thinor  that  man  or  woman  finds  attractive 
about  lier,  she  believes.  And  so  she  goes  on 
her    way,   a   self-contained,    undemonstrative. 


At  LamiJii/km  Hall.  229 

quiet  little  creature,  whose  one  object  in  life 
is  to  exercise  a  wise  control  over  the  riches 
which   have  fallen   to  her   share. 

As  may  be  imagined,  there  is  little  in  com- 
mon between  this  quiet,  prudent,  thoughtful 
little  lady,  and  her  bright,  rather  reckless, 
Irish  cousin.  He  finds  her  dull  and  un- 
interesting, especially  now  that  he  knows 
Ethel  Heatherley,  and  she  regards  him  as 
one  of  the  stars  above  her.  But  neither  by 
word,  look,  or  sign  will  she  let  him  discover 
the  secret  of  her  heart. 

Neither  her  father,  nor  her  uncle,  Lord 
Monkstown,  have  said  a  word  to  her  of 
their  wishes  about  Kenmare  and  lierself. 
But  she  has  divined  their  wishes,  and  the 
reason  why  Kenmare  is  made  to  stay  at 
Lamington,  and  the  old,  sore  feeling  comes 
back  to  her  heart  as  she  sees  that  not  even 
the  money  which  the  old  nurse  prophesied 
would  make  her  beautiful,  can  win  his 
careless  eyes  to  rest  upon  her  for  a  moment, 
approvingly.  "  He  thinks  ,me  a  dull,  ])lain 
little  thing,  and  he's  too  honest  to  pretend 
to   think    anvtliinir   else,   and   I   like    liim    for 


230  AUerton  Towers. 


his  honesty,"  she  tells  herself.  But  though 
she  approves  of  the  honesty,  her  heart  aches 
for  the  cause  of  its  being  so  displayed,  and 
she  goes  on  her  daily  round  of  duty  with 
a  feelino-  of  bitterness  that  not  all  her  sense 
of  justice  and  reasonableness  can  enable  her 
to  cast  out. 

Instinctively  she  arrives  at  the  truth,  when, 
after  that  shooting-luncheon  at  Bojaie  Gate, 
Lord  Monkstown  comes  home,  and  makes 
Ethel  Heatherley  his  theme.  As  the  father 
expresses  his  admiration,  her  eyes  are  quick 
to  see  the  flush  on  Kenmare's  brow,  and  she 
discerns  that  the  son  is  righteously  indignant 
at  the  possibility  of  having  his  father  for  a 
rival. 

"  Poor  Kenmare  !  "  she  thinks  ;  "  if  she  only 
had  half  my  money,  how  happy  you  might 
be ;  how  crossly  things  go  in  this  world ! 
Poor  Kenmare !  " 

Little  observant  as  Kenmare  is  of  her,  he 
cannot  but  admit  that  his  cousin  does  not  lay 
herself  out  to  attract  him,  or  seek  in  any  way 
to  forward  their  fathers'  plan.  And  so,  after 
a  time,  feeling   that  he  is  safe  witli    her,  he 


At  Lamington  Hall.  231 

gives  her  a  little  more  of  his  time  and  atten- 
tion, and  is  rewarded  by  finding  out  that 
the  dull,  uninteresting,  unattractive  little  girl 
whom  he  has  been  barely  regarding  as  com- 
panionable, even  though  he  is  a'guest  in  her 
father's  house,  is  well  informed  on  many  sub- 
jects that  have  an  interest  for  him,  and  can 
talk  about  them  sensibly. 

One  morning  he  stops  her  just  as  she  is 
about  to  step  into  her  little  pony-carriage, 
and  drive  herself  down  to  the  home-farm  to 
receive  the  weekly  amount  of  the  dairy  and 
poultry-yard  produce.  The  pleasure  she  feels 
in  the  fact  of  his  coming  to  her  thus  volun- 
tarily, iinds  no  expression  in  either  face  or 
manner.  Unconsciously  she  fears  that  any 
exhibition  of  liking  on  her  part  may  check  his 
friendly  feeling,  and  drive  him  from  her,  and 
she  is  beginning  to  dearly  love  the  intercourse 
with  him,  prosaic  and  void  of  sentiment  as 
it  is. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  asks,  coming 
up  to  her  swiftly,  "  I  want  you  for  a  few 
minutes,  to  tell  you  something  that  has 
disgusted  me  awfully  ! "' 


232  Allerton  Towers. 

"  Can  you  wait  till  I  come  back  from  the 
farm  ? "  she  asks,  indifFerently,  though  her 
heart   leaps   with    pleasure    when   he   says — 

"  Why  can't  I  go  to  the  farm  with  you  ? 
Yes !  let  me  come,  and  send  your  groom 
away ;  I  can  open  the  gates  and  hold  the 
pony  while  you're  pottering  about  down 
there." 

"  You  can  come  if  you  please  ;  and  I  shall 
not  want  you,  William,"  she  says,  placidly, 
but  if  Kenmare  had  eyes  for  her,  he  would 
see  a  colour  on  her  face  and  a  light  in  her 
eyes  that  only  the  painter.  Love,  can  put 
into  a  woman's  face. 

"  You  heard  my  father  speak  of  tliose 
people  who  have  been  staying  at  Boyne 
Place?" 

^'  Do  you  mean  the  Bishop  and  his  daugh- 
ter, or  the  widow  who  is  going  to  marry  the 
Bishop  and  her  daughter?"  she  asks. 

"  I  mean  the  widow,  Mrs.  Heatherley  and 
— Ethel — that's  her  daughter's  name.  Ethel 
Heatherley  is  the  only  girl  I've  ever  cared 
for,  and  I  love  her  more  than  a  fellow .  ever 
loved  a  fjirl   before,  I  believe,  and  I've   told 


At  Lamington  Hall.'  233 


her  so,  and  she  wouldn't  have  anything  to 
say  to  me,  because  she  was  engaged  to  a 
man — a  doctor  at  AUerton  Towers.  And, 
now,  tliis  morning,  my  father  shows  me  a 
letter  from  her  mother  '  accepting  the  offer 
of  his  lordship's  hand  for  her  daughter ! ' 
Carry,  it's  monstrous,  when  I  love  her  so  ; 
my  own  father,  too  !    it's  horrible." 

"Did  Lord  Monkstown  know  of  your — 
your  love  for  her  ?  " 

"  I  never  told  him  it  was  Ethel ;  but  once, 
when  the  question  of  my  marrying  somebody 
else  arose,  I  told  him  that  I  cared  too  much 
for  a  girl  already  ever  to  think  of  marrying 
another  one  ;  but  it's  not  that.  Carry.  I'm 
not  unreasonable  enough  to  blame  my  father ; 
he  has  a  right  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife, 
knowing  nothing  of  my  affair ;  but  how  can 
she  have  brought  herself  to  accept  him  ? " 

"  How,  indeed  !  "  Caroline  murmurs  ;  then 
half-fearing  that  she  may  have  partially  be- 
trayed herself  by  those  two  words,  slie  goes 
on,  collectedly — 

"  I  understand  it  is  her  mother  who  has  ac- 
cepted him  for  her  daughter ;  from  the  little 


234  '    Allerton  Towers. 


I  have  heard  of  Mrs.  Heatherley  I  should 
think  she  is  a  scheming,  ambitious  woman, 
just  the  one  to  accept  my  uncle's  offer,  with- 
out her  daughter's  knowledge,  and  then  work 
on  the  girl  to  redeem  her  mother's  promise ; 
don't  condemn  Miss  Heatherley,  till  you  know 
more  about  it,  Kenmare." 

He  looks  at  her  more  wistfully,  and  with 
more  interest  than  he  has  ever  shown  in  her 
before,  and  says : 

"  'Pon  my  word,  you're  a  kind  little  thing, 
Carry !  I  felt  I  must  speak  to  someone  about 
it.  When  my  father  spoke  to  me  just  now, 
and  showed  me  Mrs.  Heatherley 's  letter,  I  felt 
stunned,  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep 
myself  from  bursting  out  with  the  truth  ;  but 
I  reminded  myself  that  it  would  be  a  frightful 
thing,  if  this  great  calamity  does  come  to 
pass,  for  him  to  know  that  I  had  wanted  her 
myself;  so  I  pulled  myself  together,  and  got 
away  as  quickly  as  I  could." 

"  I  am  very,  very  sorry,"  she  says,  ear- 
nestly. 

''  That's  very  good  of  you,"  he  responds, 
heartily  ;   "  someway  or  other,  I  didn't  expect 


At  Lamington  Hall. 


Zo^ 


much  sympathy  from  you.  I  thought  you'd 
regard  anything  of  the  nature  of  love  as  bosh 
and  nonsense,  and  only  thmk  me  a  fool  for 
being  unable  to  get  over  my  disappointment." 

"Oh,  no!  I  can  quite  understand  a  man 
loving  a  beautiful  girl,  like  Miss  Heatherley ; 
beauty  is  a  great  gift!  the  most  precious 
possession  a  woman  can  have,  I  think,  for 
it  wins  the  only  thing  worth  winning  in  life — 
real  love." 

The  girl  speaks  with  an  intensity  and 
fervour  tliat  astonishes  her  companion,  and 
covers  herself  with  confusion,  as  soon  as  she 
ceases  speaking. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  thought  you  felt  like 
that,"  he  says,  Avonderingly.  "  You  give  me 
the  idea  of  being  so  very  full  of  commonsense, 
that  I  fancied  you  had  never  given  a  thouglit 
to  the  trivial  matter  of  love  in  your  life." 

"■Perhaps  I  haven't  for  myself;  but  I  have 
thought  a  great  deal  about  it  for  other 
people." 

"  But  you're  wrong  about  the  beauty,  you 
know;  it  isn't  only  beauty  fellows  care  .for; 
there  is   sometliing   else,   and    every   wonum, 


236  Allerton  Toicers. 


who's  anything  at  all,  has  that  something  else, 
I  believe,  for  some  fellow,  if  he  only  happens 
to  meet  her." 

She  shakes  her  head  solemnly. 

"  Not  every  woman  ;  I  haven't  it,"  she  says, 
and  she  is  innocent  of  all  wish  to  extract  a 
compliment  from  him. 

*'You  don't  know  that,"  he  says,  en- 
couragingly, but  there  is  no  strong  air  of 
conviction  about  his  manner  of  sayinij  dt. 

"  You  don't  know  that !  it's  only  that  you 
haven't  met  the  man  with  the  right,  clear 
sight  to  see  it:  I  daresay  you  have  had  any 
number  of  professed  worshippers  after  you, 
now  haven't  you  ?  Girls  with  such  fortunes 
as  yours  always  have." 

She  winces  ;  and  the  same  look  of  mortified 
pain  which  swept  over  her  little  face  when 
she  heard  her  nurse's  words  long  ago,  sweeps 
over  it  now.  But  she  forces  herself  to  say 
quite  calmly : 

"  Yes,  my  money  has  had  many  worship- 
pers ;  there  are  many  men  who  M'ould  cumber 
themselves  even  with  me,  for  the  sake  of  my 
fortune." 


At  Lamington  Hall.  237 

It  is  a  difficult  speech  to  answer.  The 
speaker's  humble  opinion  of  her  own  per- 
sonnel is  so  evidently  unfeigned,  that  he,  half- 
sharing  it  as  he  does,  does  not  think  it  worth 
his  while  to  deprecate  or  combat  it.  Accord- 
ingly, he  diverges  abruptly  from  the  subject 
of  her  lack  of  charms,  and  returns  to  the 
one  that  is  absorbing  all  his  thoughts. 

"Though  1  can't  have  her  myself,  I 
should  never  have  been  utterly  wretched 
if  Ethel  had  stood  to  her  guns,  and  married 
her  doctor  ;  but  if  this  thing  is  true  I  shall 
go  away,  and  I  shan't  very  much  care  where 
I  go,  or  Avhat  becomes  of  me ;  to  think  of 
her  as  my  father's  wife  !  To  think  of  her 
selling  herself  in  such  a  way  will  be 
maddening ! " 

"  Hope  still  that  it  is  merely  her  mother's 
consent  which  has  been  given ;  I  don't 
believe  the  girl  lives  who  could  take  your 
father  after  refusing  you  ;  it  would  be  im- 
possible, unnatural !  " 

She  speaks  so  fervently  that  he  cannot 
doubt  any  longer  that  she  will  prove  a  real 
true   friend   to   him.     A  friend   to  whom  he 


238  Allerton  Towers. 


may^  with  safety  and  assurance  turn  in  an}' 
time  of  trouble  or  distress.  A  good,  sensible 
girl,  who  will  give  him  a  sister's  quiet  love, 
listen  patiently  to  the  story  of  any  diffi- 
culties which  may  assail  him,  and,  if  needful, 
give  him  advice  and  sympathy !  All  this 
her  tone  seems  to  promise  him,  and  it  never 
occurs  to  him,  that  such  a  sensible,  plain  girl 
as  she  is,  can  be  actuated  by  any  warmer 
feeling  than  this  "  friendship,"  on  which  he 
is   so  confidently  relying. 

"  It  does  me  good  to  hear  you  speak  m 
that  way,  Caroline,"  he  says,  cheerily.  His 
sanguine  spirit  has  revived  under  the  influence 
of  her  sympathetic  words,  and  he  almost 
fancies  that  her  instinct  against  the  possibility 
of  Ethel  committing  the  enormity  of  marry- 
ing his  father,  must  be  a  correct  one,  "  I  wish 
I  could  get  you  to  know  Ethel !  You'd  plead 
my  cause  for  me  like  a  little  brick,  I  know," 
he  says,  enthusiastically. 

"No  one  can  do  that  for  you.  This  is  the 
dairy ;  shall  we  stop  here  or  drive  up  to  the 
house  ?  " 

"Up   to  the   house   I   tliink ;    anything   to 


At  Lamington  Hall.  239 


prolong  the  pleasure  of  driving  witli  you, 
Carry,"  he  says,  so  up  to  the  house  they 
go,  and  Mrs.  Hocking,  the  farmer's  wife, 
stabs  Caroline  right  through  the  heart,  by 
whispering,  meaningly — 

"  Pleased  to  see  the  gentleman,  and  more 
than  pleased,  Miss  Hawtrey!  I've  heard  two 
or  three  words,  but  didn't  like  to  take  any 
notice,  till  I  saw  you  driving  up  together, 
so  cosy  and  happy,  just  now ;  I  s'pose  it 
won't  be  long  before  we  lose  you  now,  Miss  ?  " 

These  words  a're  half-whispered,  but  still 
they  are  designed  for  the  gentleman's  ears  as 
Avell ;  and  feeling  sure  that  he  hears  every 
one  of  them,  Caroline  is  too  proud  to  attempt 
to  arrest  the  torrent  of  j\[rs.  Hocking's  elo- 
quence. 

"This  gentleman,  is  only  my  cousin.  Lord 
Kenmare,  Mrs.  Hocking ;  you  are  quite  mis- 
taken in  supposing  that  he  will  ever  be 
anything  else  to  me,"  she  says,  with  cold 
dignity,  and  Kenmare  thinks  "  she  really 
needn't  be  quite  so  serious  about  sucli  an 
utterly  absurd   mistake." 

The  rest  of  the  visit  to  the  farm  is  very 


240  AUerton  Towers. 


pleasant — to  Kenmare.  Now  that  he  has 
broken  the  ice,  and  discoursed  of  his  love  to 
Caroline,  his  spirits  have  risen  considerably, 
and  he  is  quite  happy  and  at  ease.  It  amuses 
him  to  see  her  gravely  going  through  the 
business  of  auditing  the  accounts  which  are 
submitted  to  her,  and  it  interests  him  to  see 
her  eight  perfectly-matched  Jersey  cows,  and 
her  various  runs  of    rare   poultry. 

"  Cut  out  for  an  old  maid,"  he  says  to  him- 
self, as  he  marks  the  orderly  way  in  which 
she  has  everything  kept,  and  the  thorough 
precision  with  which  she  contrives  to  have  all 
her  directions  carried  out.  "  Cut  out  for  an 
old  maid !  but  a  dear,  sensible  little  piece  of 
ice  for  a  friend  for  all  that ;  how  she  would 
laugh  at  the  governor's  suggestion,  that  I 
should  make  up  to  her.  Awful  joke  it  would 
be  to  tell  her." 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


